


The Jabberwock's Treasure

by taiyakisoba



Category: Monster Girl Encyclopedia
Genre: Cute, Dream Sex, F/M, Fantasy, Fluff and Angst, Gentle femdom, Monster Girl, Monster Girl Encyclopedia - Freeform, Older Woman/Younger Man, Romance, mild crossdressing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-08-07
Packaged: 2019-06-05 02:57:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 29,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15160976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taiyakisoba/pseuds/taiyakisoba
Summary: When the proud but lonely Jabberwock Vorpal kidnaps the daughter of a stuck-up ruler for the Queen of Hearts, she soon finds the treasure she's been tasked with guarding too precious to part with....





	1. The Princess in the High Tower

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Anonymous](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anonymous/gifts).



Breaking through the walls of the castle was the easy part. Vorpal's claws made quick work of the brick and masonry, like a child burrowing a questing hand into a sandcastle, and she tore her way inside. The soldiers had been alerted, of course. Around a dozen ran across the square from the guardhouse, joined by others from the bases of the castle's many towers, all dressed in red and gold, the livery of the Regency of Alfor.

Vorpal sighed. She brought the full height of her body to bear, unfurling her leathery wings, her crest bristling, her long tail whipping the air. For a moment she remembered the time when she had been a true dragon, before her transformation. Then, she had flown the skies, a terror to humans and other monsters alike, unstoppable, despite all the heroes sent against her. In another time, she would have been smashing into a castle to despoil it of its gold and jewels, to add to her precious hoard.

But that was in the past. 

A jabberwock now, she was still an object of fear, though perhaps of a different kind. The soldiers, poor pitiable creatures, came to a halt a good number of feet away from her and looked at each other, none of them eager to be the first to engage her. 

Vorpal drew in a great breath, her ample chest heaving. Then she breathed out – but not the fire of old. No, this was just another of the strange changes that the Queen of Hearts' magic had worked on her body. Thick pink mist, glowing, pungent with the sweet scent of sugar and musk and fairy-floss, flowed over the armed column in a wave. 

The soldiers fell writhing to the ground and Vorpal chuckled to herself. This form still felt unfamiliar in a lot of ways, even so many years after her transformation, but one could not argue with its effectiveness.

The soldiers pulled at their armour, stripping themselves of it, greaves and cuirasses and jerkins all. Then half-naked they fell on each other with hungry mouths and hands. The Regency employed both male and female soldiers, but the pink mist of the jabberwock's breath brought with it such uncontrollable lust that those under its influence cared little whether the gender of their partners coincided with their usual desires. 

Vorpal sniffed and turned her back on the writhing, panting pile, then with a single sweep of her powerful wings she was across the square. Yes, that was the tower Dovedale the Cheshire Cat had spoken of. She wrenched the door clear off its hinges, locks and all. Foolish to show the way to your most precious possession by covering the doors with such puny defences, capable of hindering only human threats!

With half-flaps, half-leaps, she scaled the great curving stair. She met with more soldiers, but those who did not immediately flee from her received a blast of her sweet pink breath. Vorpal brushed them aside, but not before the smiling mouths of her tentacles sought to wrap themselves lasciviously around their lust-filled and writhing bodies. 

Vorpal's body suddenly twinged with a familiar, frustrating ache, but she pushed it away angrily. Of all the changes to her body, this insatiable desire was the most annoying. Other jabberwocks took pride in the intensity of their lewdness, the uncontrollable need of their lust. But for Vorpal, who had once been a dragon, the feelings were unwelcome. A proud daughter of the dragon race, reduced to a slobbering, lowly creature? Her new sisters, of course, did not see it that way. They looked at their lewdness as the source of great dignity and took delight in being the most lascivious of the monsters of Wonderland. 

Ah, but that was the thing, wasn't it? Those were the rules of Wonderland and Vorpal had lived outside of the mysterious demon realm most her life. If she hadn't stumbled upon that strange door, been tempted to see what was on the other side, thinking that there was treasure hidden there….

The treasure. Of course. She must not get distracted.

She tossed aside another soldier and came at last to the final door atop the tower. More locks, but these she peeled off with her claws delicately. She could not just tear the door away like before – she might damage the treasure waiting within.

She stuck a claw in the final lock, prised it out and then slowly pushed the door open.

Candlelight within. A bedroom, walls decorated with lavish tapestries and crossed swords and shields, filled from corner to corner with exquisite wooden furniture – a dresser, a great many wardrobes, a bookcase, a suit of armour beside it – but most gorgeous of all was the great four-poster bed in the centre of the room, draped with pale blue silks. A sleeping body made a mound beneath the coverlet – a long, slender body, topped with a mass of long blonde hair which lay across its lace pillow, as gold as the exquisite embroidery of the coverlet. The top half of the mound rose gently with the rising of breath. Good. She had not woken her.

The Princess of Alfor. Yes, Dovedale had been most descriptive.

“You must be gentle, Vorpal my darling. She is sought by the Queen of Hearts, after all, and must be treated like the most precious pearl. The Queen wishes her to be brought to Wonderland in all her pure, untouched beauty, with not a single golden hair unplaced.”

Vorpal had been surprised by the request. “But what does the Queen want with the Princess?”

Dovedale giggled. “Why, I was sure you knew the story, darling! Weren't you a denizen of the human world for so very long? But perhaps the story is only well-known here in Wonderland. Well, the Regess of Alfor has long been famous for her hatred of lewdness of every kind. Abandoned by her lover, she was, poor thing, and since that day she has hated even the thought of the joys of sex. Why, she even went so far as to enact an edict that no citizen of her country is permitted to perform any sexual act beyond...” – and here the Cheshire Cat giggled again – “….beyond the position where the female lies prone beneath the male, and they may not do so for pleasure but merely for the begetting of children! And even then no more than once a month!”

Vorpal frowned at the look of melodramatic shock on the Cheshire Cat's face. Was the thought of going a whole month without having sex truly so terrible? And surely it was a delight best left for one's husband...

Dovedale continued. “The Regess' unwholesome purity and arrogance have long displeased the Queen of Hearts. And so she wishes to teach her a lesson.”

“Her daughter,” said Vorpal. “Dovedale, I don't wish to refuse the Queen's order, but if the child is going to be harmed...”

The Cheshire Cat's slitted amethyst eyes went wide in shock, both at the thought of someone refusing an order from the Queen of Hearts and that such an order would be murderous in intent. “No, no, no, my darling. Set your heart at rest! The Queen merely wishes to mould the child into a creature of supreme lewdness. She will be returned to her kingdom, unharmed, and show her people and her mother the foolishness of refusing their natural lewd desires.” Her lunate grin reappeared, twice as large. “Since you became a jabberwock, have you not found life so much more fulfilling?”

“Well,” said Vorpal and she left it at that. She did not wish to attempt explaining to such a flighty creature as a Cheshire Cat the complexities of her situation. Of course she desired sex and was susceptible to erotic feeling… her body was designed for just that. But every time she had been tempted to ravish a lost traveller or other incautious human, something had held her back. 

Was it just that she was afraid? 

No, it was not that. She was not afraid of men! If anything, men were afraid of her. 

Maybe she was just too picky.

Her pride flashed up. No! It was just that she had not yet met one who could match her. Would she become a simpering she-lizard for some peasant or simpleton just because of the hardness between their legs? Never!

And so she had of course accepted the duty placed on her by the Queen. She had no way of refusing, really, but it suited her pride to feel that she was the one who had made the decision. The Cheshire Cat had been delighted and told her of the details of the mission….

….and so here she was now. The treasure. The Princess of Alfor. Her goal.

Vorpal stepped carefully up to the side of the bed, her claws clicking against the floorboards. She took hold of the hem of the duvet and slowly drew it down.

The princess' face was still hidden by the wealth of her golden hair, but her slender body was revealed, covered by a thin night dress, all except for her limbs – her hands clasped at her breast, bed-warm pink, long smooth legs of the same peach-like colour. 

Vorpal watched her sleeping. She was so peaceful, and so beautiful, too. She willed her to move, to reveal her face, and by some miracle with a gentle murmur she did, turning her head. The halo of her golden hair parted and her gentle sleeping face appeared. Her eyes were beautiful even shut, the long lashes laid black against the paleness of her smooth high cheekbones. The little curved cupid's -bow of a mouth parted as she breathed. 

Truly a delicate beauty. Vorpal sighed. Perhaps the Queen of Hearts was right. To have such a delight trapped in this high tower, never allowed to marry or to feel the joy of a lover's embraces and the delight of children as beautiful as herself was a dreadful sin. She would no doubt make an exquisite succubus or some similarly aristocratic monster.

The princess murmured again. Vorpal realised she had come too close and no doubt the heat of her own body, the soft kiss of her breath was disturbing her.

Noise from below. More soldiers? Possibly the Regess had returned earlier from her hunt than Vorpal had expected. 

She leaned down. She must do this gently or else…

Shouts came from below, and with them the clattering of arms.

The princess's eyes flashed open. They were blue, impossibly blue, like a sunlit bay, somehow captured here in her face. Her mouth opened too in a gasp, a gasp building to a scream.

Vorpal knew then there was no longer any time for gentleness. She threw a tentacle over the princess' mouth and with her claws she lifted her up beneath the knees and shoulders.

Then with a lunge of her tail she smashed out the wall around the window and with a sweep of her leathery wings she surged her powerful body through the dust and shattered mortar and out into the night air. 

In her arms the princess struggled. 

Vorpal leaned close. “Don't try and escape you silly creature. We're flying now, and if you manage to get free your beautiful self will fall four hundred feet to a certain and messy death.”

Vorpal felt the girl gasp against her gently constricting tentacle and she stopped struggling, although she still shivered. Vorpal immediately regretted her cruel words and said, “You will not be harmed. I've been asked to escort you to meet the Queen of Wonderland, a request your mother would not allow and which has forced our current situation.”

The girl seemed to understand. Her shivering grew less and she clung on, now, to Vorpal as she flew. 

Hands. Such soft, gentle hands, even though they gripped her tightly. 

Vorpal flushed. The princess smelled warm and sweet, like freshly laundered linen. 

Those eyes. Looking up at her. 

Vorpal flew on. Her lair was not far away.

\-----------------------------------

Vorpal watched the slender body on the couch shift and murmur. Ah, the princess was not long off waking.

The delicate creature had been asleep when Vorpal had arrived back at her lair. She'd been surprised and amused to find the princess's eyes closed, her lips slightly open, her chest gently rising and falling in her arms. Vorpal had thought she was faking to begin with, that she would take off at a run as soon as she let go of her, and so as she placed her on the couch she'd been ready to snatch her up if she tried anything. Her big claws were so perfect for catching after all. 

But the girl hadn't been faking. Either through exhaustion of the flight or more likely through the stress of her kidnapping, she'd nodded off part way. Vorpal had laid down on her own bed, the great mound of gold and silver coins and glittering jewels she'd had collected over the years, and watched her. No, the princess was not faking. She slept hard and deep.

But in the cool of Vorpal's underground lair, she'd begun to shiver so the jabberwock had placed a fleece on top of her. She'd done it gently, worried she would wake her, disturb that angelic look of peace she was so envious of. Also, Vorpal was relieved she was still asleep. She had dreaded the thought of wrestling the girl, threatening her to keep her from trying to escape. Vorpal did not much relish that kind of conflict, the sort with tears, shouting and recriminations, a conflict that couldn't be solved with the slash of a claw or the sweep of a tail. 

The princess shifted again, revealing her face. Vorpal felt a flutter in her chest. She really was beautiful. A classic, aristocratic beauty. So slender she could be snapped in half in one claw, no doubt, with pale skin and hair almost as pale. And those eyes! Vorpal had seen just a moment of them open, and they had stared at her in fear. But perhaps the fear had made them all the more beautiful.

Her fine gold hair fell over her face and Vorpal was struck by the desire to get up and brush it to one side. The thought annoyed her, and the annoyance quickly teetered into anger. Why had the Queen entrusted her with such a trivial task? Surely a Cheshire Cat could have done the same. Why disturb her? Her neighbours in Wonderland knew she preferred her own company. That's why she'd set up her lair so far from the others in the forest, on the very edge of Wonderland.

But perhaps that was not the truth of it. Perhaps she missed being a dragon. 

And perhaps Dovedale was right. Perhaps she should stop struggling against her situation and learn to enjoy it.

She glanced back at the princess. Ah, but a boy around her age, with her looks, would have made an excellent captive. She was no doubt still a virgin. As a boy she would have been irresistible, a true prize worthy of such effort. 

Vorpal's heart beat faster. Oh, why was she thinking about this now? Her body always betrayed her. Lewdness lay never far under the surface. She grimaced at the tingling pressure growing below her waist. 

Yes, a boy like this princess. A prince, gold-haired and pale skinned and gentle of face. One rarely met a human of that sort wondering into Wonderland. Mostly, such exquisite prizes fell to monster girls far more experienced in their demonic ways. 

Vorpal had come across Dovedale with such a one, once. The boy had been young, just on the cusp of manhood like this princess. The Cheshire cat had been astride him, bouncing her voluptuous body up and down. She hadn't even taken the time to strip herself and had merely pulled the crotch of her garment aside and slipped his hardness into her. Her tail twisting, her wide mouth open and drooling as she yowled with pleasure, the boy's hands around her waist, his beautiful eyes boggling with disbelief as the cat-girl engulfed him over and over again. 

Dovedale's huge amethyst eyes had fallen open and seen Vorpal staring, and her lewdly moist lips had burst into a wide grin.

“Oh, my dearest Vorpal! Look at what I found just wandering the forest.” She'd gasped, then, as the boy began thrusting up into her with increasing zeal. “Why – ah! Why don't you come and join us? The lad's beautiful mouth is just wasted there, gasping out his pleasure to the empty air. Surely it could – ah! – be put to a more pleasurable use!”

Vorpal had for a dark moment considered it. Wasn't that the way a jabberwock was supposed to behave? She could just mount the boy's face, have him lick her between the legs. And after the Cheshire Cat had made him burst inside her and filled her with his boiling semen, she could have her turn. Her pink breath and her mouth and eager tongue would soon have him back into fighting form and then she, too, could feel for the first time the surging delight of a man's member spearing up into her, the eager clutching of his soft hands, hear his passionate gasps, feel that liquid fire spatter her insides.

Her tentacles' mouths had drooled, but she had muttered something and flown away, leaving Dovedale to bring the boy to completion. Vorpal had rushed home, fell on her couch, let her tentacles wander over her body, one licking her nipples with its hot, writhing tongue as she'd torn aside the skirt of her garment and let the other baste her engorged button until she reached a frustrated and angry climax.

She'd regretted not taking the Cheshire Cat's offer up, initially. But over time she'd felt she'd done the right thing. She would have had to have left the boy for the cat, or else shared him, and she had never been one for sharing. Dragons were most covetous monsters, after all.

But now she had this beautiful creature to herself. A girl. What would it be like to lay with a girl, she wondered? The thought intrigued her, but then the annoyance returned. 

Oh, why did she have to be a princess? And why did she have to be kept for the Queen of Heart's pleasure?

Feeling sorry for herself, Vorpal let the horrible loneliness she usually kept at bay creep back upon her. She had always suffered it, even before she'd been made a jabberwock. As a dragon, no man had been worthy of her. Many dragon hunters had come, and there had been many men she had defeated in battle when despoiling rich kingdoms. But none had been what she desired. 

She looked about her lair. It was a cave, of course, like her home as a dragon had been. Many jabberwocks lived in similar places. They were deep down still dragons, after all, even if they had never experienced being other than a jabberwock. There were gold and jewels, of course, piled up in the way dragons enjoy having it, being on display at all times. The mound, upon which she was lying on her tummy and watching the princess, glittered all about her in the torchlight. Morning was still a while away, and this chamber would only receive the sunlight when the sun was high in the sky. 

She shifted, enjoying the feeling of the hard coins under her belly. Ah, but her body was itchy today! She squirmed until her breasts and thighs and twisting tail had made a nice hollow. Now she could relax and continue to watch the princess sleep. 

Vorpal's lair was richly decorated with furniture she had stolen. She remembered when she had despoiled that human mansion where she had found the couch the princess was sleeping on. There had been an old grandfather clock as well and it sat now in the corner of the chamber, ticking. Tapestries of royal scenes covered the walls. Her favourite, although it annoyed her also, was the one hanging on the far wall, near her collection of magical swords. It showed in its intricate embroidery, no doubt woven by the delicate hands of some young princess like her current quarry, a scene of a young knight kneeling before a girl and taking her hand in his. Clearly it was a scene from one of those romantic novels that such aristocratic girls like so much. 

Vorpal's eyes flicked to the bookcases of books she had. She loved the look of books, even though she seldom had the patience to read them. There were many romances there, and she had read a few. But more then often the situations had irked her, with the girls fawning over unreasonably heroic knights, and the coyness of the writing was also irritating. The action would always pull away before the interesting part – you would seldom get to read about the lewdness of their wedding night. Such wedding nights must be lewd, Vorpal knew. Surely after being virgins for so long – the knight included – the first chance to enjoy the pleasures of the marriage bed would have the two of them tearing off each others' clothes and ravishing each other with hands and mouths that had been starved for so long.

Vorpal sighed at the fantasy, eased out her long claws on her hands and feet. Her tentacles, as often they did when she was aroused, slithered over the base of her wings and along her sides and she shivered. 

Her eyes fell again on the princess. Would she have behaved like the princess in her imagination on her wedding night? She imagined her waking, her blue eyes heavy with desire, her gold hair loose and wild as she smiled teasingly and lifted the hem of her nightdress just high enough to show off her underwear. Vorpal had caught a glimpse before of the surprisingly plain white covering of her round bottom and she had envied the princess once again. Her own bottom was generous, overgenerous perhaps, like her thighs – powerful and voluptuous, but lacking grace.

Vorpal bit her lip. No, thinking about her bottom would not do. The princess' knight. She saw him take off his helm. A beautiful young man, barely within the confines of manhood, with blue eyes like the princess and gold hair, although not so long. A delicate, gorgeous face, untouched by a beard, his lips red and full.

Vorpal squeezed her thighs together. The fantasy shifted. Now she was the one lying on the couch, still a jabberwock, but dressed in a nightdress, as ludicrous as it seemed. She watched the boy-knight eagerly, her virgin heart pumping as he stripped his armour from his body until he was dressed only in his tunic. His neck and collar were pale and white, his arms and long, slender legs too. 

Foolishness! Surely a knight would be more muscular than this mere slip of a boy. And older too.

Vorpal snorted. No. It was her fantasy and she would imagine whatever she wished!

The base of his tunic poked out lewdly. Vorpal saw herself slip her nightdress off her body, letting her big breasts bounce free. The boy-knights eyes went wide. Ah yes, her boobs. They were large, but still proud despite her age and her overgenerous body. 

She beckoned to the knight, her smile demure, but also coaxing. The boy-knight, his eyes never leaving her breasts, stumbled forward – his erection made it comically difficult for him to walk. And when he hesitated, nervous, just away from the couch, Vorpal saw her princess-self reach out for him, grab him and tear his tunic off him with her claws. The boy gasped and struggled but she pulled him to her heaving chest nevertheless. His hardness, sprung free, was a delightful piece of physical perfection and she shivered at how it pressed against her belly. 

Vorpal flooded. 

Then she heard a deep sigh and her eyes flashed open. They fell again on the bed. The princess was waking.

The fantasy fled away. No. Such a thing would never have happened to this princess. No handsome knight would ever have come to save her from her high tower. No, she would have lived on, old and withered, her body untouched, a testament to the Regess, her mother's, hatred of sex. It was better, then, that Vorpal had kidnapped her, that the Queen of Hearts would mould her into some stunning succubus. 

Such thoughts made Vorpal's desire shift away to that old itchiness. Her crest bristled in annoyance. Only a few moments more and she could have – 

But no. She could have done no such thing with the princess lying there. Gods, how long was she going to sleep?

The princess shifted again. She grimaced, turned over, the fleece slipping off her body. Ah, but that slender body was revealed again, the nightdress ridden up, revealing that almost-boyish butt of hers.

Vorpal slid off her couch of gold and silver with an annoyed clucking of her tongue. She could not just leave the princess like that. She went to the bed and with a single claw gently pulled the hem of her nightdress down over that pretty cotton-clad bottom. 

The princess rolled over again. Her eyes fell open. For a heartbeat she look at Vorpal and Vorpal stared back at her and then her face slowly gave way to terror as the memory of the kidnapping and the flight through the night sky returned to her.

Vorpal stepped back, holding both claws palm out. 

“I'm not going to harm you,” she said.

The princess, her eyes fearful, pulled herself up into the sitting position. “You're... you're not a dream, are you?” 

Vorpal frowned. What a funny thing to say! Ah, but she must have thought everything that happened last night was as dream.

“No,” said Vorpal, with regret. “No, I'm not a dream. My name is Vorpal. I am a servant of the Queen of Hearts.”

Fear flashed across the princess's face. “What does the Queen of Hearts want with me?”

Vorpal sighed. So many questions! Still, better not to alarm the girl – she didn't want her doing something foolish.

“The Queen of Hearts merely wishes to meet with you,” said Vorpal. “One aristocrat to another. It is a great honour.” She thought such an idea would calm a princess.

“A strange way to invite someone,” said the girl. 

“The Queen's ways are strange,” said Vorpal, wishing she had not taken the conversation in this direction. 

The princess furrowed her brow, although her eyes no longer to hold their earlier panic. They flicked about the room then fell back on Vorpal. 

“A jabberwock,” she said. “And this is your lair.”

Vorpal nodded.

“My mother will be furious,” said the princess. Then she frowned. “I remember hearing fighting. Or was that part of my dream as well?”

Vorpal laughed, then. “Rest easy. I did not harm any of your soldiers. On the contrary, I believe they greatly enjoyed themselves.”

The princess looked at her, a frown marring her pretty face. But she seemed mollified somewhat.

She pulled the coverlet down off her slender bare legs and then swung them off the side of the couch. They were long and pale. Barefoot, she took a few tentative steps and looked around the room again. 

Vorpal watched her. Yes, she was very slender, her form very much boyish. Her hips moved pleasantly beneath the material of her nightdress, although she lacked any sort of bust. She was very much flat chested. 

“So I'm to be ransomed to my mother,” said the Princess. 

“Well,” said Vorpal, and she left it at that. Why should she bother trying to explain things? It was better if the princess believed this was all a ransom plot. She would be easier to deal with, then.

The princess stopped pacing and turned to Vorpal. “And you're truly not going to harm me?”

Vorpal laughed. “Oh, come now, Princess. If I had wished to harm you, I could snap you in two like a twig.” She lifted a talon and let the claws click together with an alarming crack.

The girl's eyes went wide and she retreated back against the couch. 

Vorpal chuckled. “Merely a joke, princess.”

“Why do you keep calling me that?” the girl demanded.

“What? 'Princess'?” Vorpal shrugged. “I don't really need to know your first name, do I?”

“But I am not a princess,” said the girl. 

Vorpal was about to laugh, but the girl's face held a mixture of annoyance and conviction. For a terrible second a horrible thought flashed through her. Had she been duped? Had the information the Cheshire Cat had given her been wrong in some way? Maybe the real princess was still in the castle somewhere, hidden, maybe in a different tower or some hidden room deep underground. Maybe this girl here was a fake, a diversion. Oh gods!

“Then who are you?” demanded Vorpal, her fear quickly sublimated to anger. 

The girl's eyes went even wider in alarm. “My name is Naveen, the crown prince and heir of the Regency of Alfor!”

Vorpal grit her teeth. Surely the girl was jesting! She was ready with another angry outburst but then all of the morning's musings slowly came together. Her room had not been furnished as a princess' would have been. The suit of armour, the weapons and shield on the walls. 

Oh gods. Oh gods!

She strode over to Naveen, took hold of a shoulder with her talon then with a claw of the other she lifted the nightdress's hem. Naveen gasped and clutched at the material, but Vorpal was ungentle and ignored the pushing of those slender hands.

Pale legs, topped with paler thighs were revealed, and then the paleness of underwear. Yes, that chaste white underwear. The front bulged out in a most unfeminine way.

But Vorpal needed to be sure. She placed the soft tip of a claw before it became a talon against the bulge and pressed gently. 

Naveen cried out in alarm despite her gentleness. 

There was no mistaking it. A male member, nestled there in the confines of the underwear. 

Vorpal swallowed. She'd seen male members before, of course, but she had never before touched one. 

She pulled her talon away and she let him go.

The prince – for he was a prince after all – stumbled back against the couch.

A prince. A prince! Oh gods, what would the Queen of Hearts think! 

Vorpal steadied herself against the table. Of course, she would be the one who would be blamed. The Queen would not wish to hear that she had been duped by misinformation, or, worse still, had herself made a mistake. Innumerable stories told across Wonderland of the unfortunate fates of individuals who had raised the petulant anger of the young and powerful Demon Queen.

Vorpal felt fear rising in her, and like before it sprang forth as anger. Why had this happened to her? Why had she been chosen to perform such a ludicrous task in the first place! 

She hefted the table up and slammed it against the wall where it splintered in two. Her tentacles swung out, hissing, raking the bookcase in fury. Books, bindings bent and pages torn, rained to the ground.

The prince cried out in terror and scrambled back into a corner of the cave as Vorpal pulled the rest of the bookcase down. When it crashed to the floor she stopped, panting, her wings shivering as her anger slowly boiled away. 

Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!

Her chest heaving, she whipped her head around. Smashing things had lent her a few moments of distraction, but the devastation now filled her with sick regret. Her eyes fell on the prince. He was hiding behind the couch, watching her with bright blue eyes filled with fear. 

The sight annoyed her. A fine prince he was, cowering there! He might as well be a princess!

“Come out from there, Princess,” Vorpal snapped. “I will not harm you. You're not an item of furniture, after all.”

The blue eyes remained staring. He shook his head.

Vorpal fought back her rising anger. No. She would not take it out on the human. Smashing furniture and tearing books was one thing. She could not forgive herself if she harmed one so beautiful, even if he did annoy her.

And besides, if she harmed him, the problem would not be solved and instead grow infinitely worse. 

Maybe there was still a way out of this whole mess. Think! No. First she should calm herself. Tidy something. That will do the trick.

She glanced about at the disaster around her, saw again the prince still watching her wide-eyed from his hiding place behind the couch. Her anger flashed again, but she fought it down. 

She leaned down and took up a book. Its cover was bent, but she could still read the title. 

The Maid and the Mistress.

Vorpal sighed. She had enjoyed that book, although the writing had been awful. She massaged the cover in a futile attempt to repair it.

A strange story. Humans wrote so many stories about Wonderland, as though enamoured of the place. Some did, after all, seek it out for its many pleasures. They often got far more than they bargained for. No doubt they had read one of these frivolous fantasy tales and believed everything in it. Often the details were hilariously wrong.

But this book had not been too bad in that regard. That was why she liked it. The author seemed to have visited Wonderland at one time or another. Just how he had left it, Vorpal had no idea. But the plot of the story had been almost as fun to read as the risqué scenes. 

For one thing, the scene where the Maid in the title was turned male after eating a slice of Wonderland cake, and the subsequent drama of her being sought-after by every monster girl imaginable, much to her lover, the Master's, chagrin. 

The cake. What was it like to become male, she wondered? 

Vorpal went to place the book gently on the still-standing dresser but she dropped it. A thought had struck her.

Cake. Wonderland cake! 

If she gave the cake to the prince, and changed her into a princess, than maybe the problem would be solved. She shuddered at the thought of tricking the Queen of Hearts, but wasn't this merely reversing a trick which had already been played on her? If a princess was what the Queen wanted, a princess she'd get!

But how to get a piece of that cake? She did not often go to many tea-parties, although Dovedale was always inviting her. There was always too much rivalry there, too much jockeying for social position. And then there would be humans too, more likely than not, for the monster-girls to play with.

Truth was, she did not want to compete with the other monster-girls over humans. She slid a talon subconsciously along a hip. Yes, all too hippy. And her butt, although shapely, was a little oversized. All of that, and her age as well, produced a rather sorry state of affairs.

She sighed and returned to picking up the books. The princess watched her.

She stopped. Why was she doing this on her own? It was at least partly the dashed 'princess's fault!

“Come on out,” she said. “The least you could do is help me.”

“I'm sorry,” said the prince. “You're angry because of me.”

Vorpal rolled her eyes. “Yes. No. The situation angered me. It still does. But I'm not that angry now. Just annoyed. Come out. I told you I won't harm you.”

The prince tentatively slipped from behind the sofa, his face still unsure. His blue eyes never left her as he picked his way through the books.

Vorpal wheeled on him. “What is with that cringing? Am I really so terrifying?”

“I– I've heard that the monsters of this land...” He swallowed. “That they are prone to disgracing human males.”

“Disgracing?” Then Vorpal snorted. “Ah! You mean ravish, surely. Or rape perhaps?”

At the word 'rape' the prince blanched and Vorpal wondered just how a boy so pale could turn even paler. She enjoyed his discomfort for a moment before she decided not to push things too far. She had to gain his trust if she was going to fix this whole debacle.

“Your virginity is safe with me,” she said quickly. “Queen's orders. Besides, you are scarcely my type.”

The ludicrous lie felt thick on her tongue and she wondered if the boy would sense it. But he seemed to have paid more attention to her words than her tone and believed her statement about not raping him, at least. 

He grew brave enough to start picking up books and piling them neatly. Ah, for a prince he seemed not too averse to physical work, and his attentive neatness pleased Vorpal. She went and examined the remains of the table. There was no saving it. She would need to find another, then. 

She watched the boy. Ah, but he did look like a princess in that nightdress. Vorpal recalled the delightful bulge in his underwear. He was not poorly endowed, although of course one could not tell much with an unerect human member. And those curved buttocks of his. They would be perfect for squeezing.

Gods, what was she thinking? But then she remembered the earlier itchiness she had felt as she had imagined her fantasy of the boy-knight. No knight, this boy, and yet –

A virgin. Who blushed and said things like 'disgraced'. Pale skin, soft to the touch.

Not her type?

Gods. He was just her type! Vorpal, you perverted old lizard! Wanting to strip a young boy of his virginity.

And her own. That was it, wasn't it?

She picked up each half of the table in a talon, carried them outside and tossed them beside the cave entrance. With a few strikes of her tail she quickly smashed them into smaller pieces. They would serve as passable fire wood. And yet, what a waste! She hated waste. She would have to keep that anger of hers under control. 

She went back inside. The prince, carrying some books, had followed her a short way. No doubt he was thinking about escape. The thought of such a thing amused Vorpal, although she was not unimpressed. Maybe there was a man's heart in his pale, soft breast after all.

“Don't even think about trying to escape,” said Vopal simply and without heat. “We are deep in Wonderland. The enchanted forest lies between us and the human world. You would be – haha – 'disgraced' within an inch of your life within the first ten minutes. Many a rapacious monster fills the –”

“'Rapacious monster'?” A cheery voice piped up from behind her. “Are my ears burning?”

Dovedale the Cheshire Cat! She was floating in the air upside down, her long hair a torrent of purple around her grinning face. 

The prince, startled, moved to Vorpal's side. She glanced at him in surprise. Had he lost his fear of her so quickly? Ah, but there was something frightening about a Cheshire Cat, after all. Her grin was not malicious so much as it was rapacious, and the way her violet eyes scanned Naveen's body was alarming.

Vorpal felt an unfamiliar annoyance at the appearance of her friend, but she swallowed it down. She had been angry enough for one day. Besides, her appearance was most opportune!

“Dovedale, I'm glad you're here. I have a – ah, situation.”

The Cat's eyes slipped from the wide-eyed prince and scanned the room. “Ah. I see the problem.” She lifted a finger and the books in a swirling mass lifted up into the air. They quickly found a marching order and slotted their way back into the bookcase. 

Dovedale turned on Vorpal, then, and the prince beside her. She lifted her finger again, but only to wag it at them.

“Now, Vorpal, weren't you told the princess was to remain chaste before meeting the Queen? She will be most displeased, you realise.”

Vorpal frowned. “What in Wonderland are you talking about?”

The Cat spun back up the right way. Her grin was, if anything, a cheerful one. “I didn't think you had it in you, or that your tastes went in such a direction. Ravishing this young thing with so much vigour that you shook the books from the walls! And no doubt you took her on the table I found shattered out the front of your den.” She clapped her hands together. “Ah, but now we have a problem, do we not? I shall have to go find some Forget-Me-Knot Tea so we can dose this delightful creature and return her to a state of innocence!”

Vorpal fought a blush and waved a talon in the air. “No, no, no! That's not it at all!” And she moved Dovedale to one side, out of earshot of the prince, and quickly explained the situation.

The Cheshire Cat's eyes went wide. “He's a boy?” Her eyes took on a lewd glimmer and she turned and flicked a finger in the air. 

The prince with a yelp was lifted off his feet and turned upside down. His nightdress quickly fell about his face, leaving only his white underwear with its tell-tale bulge below his pale legs kicking at the air.

Dovedale, biting her lip, went to flick her finger again but Vorpal snatched hold of it with a tentacle before she could play any more pranks on the boy.

Cheshire sighed. “Very well. This is your lair, after all, and the boy is your responsibility.” She swung the prince around so that he was back the right way and lowered him to the ground. Naveen grabbed the hem of his nightdress and held it fast, his pale cheeks bright pink as he stared at the Cat with a mixture of recrimination and fear.

“So you see my problem,” said Vorpal. “But perhaps you can solve it. They often eat gender-bending cakes at tea parties don't they?”

“Well of course,” said Cheshire. “I mean, sometimes it is fun to enjoy taking another part – the novelty adds a certain delightful frisson to the lewdness, after all.” Then she frowned – a strange sight on the cat's round face. “Ah, but we have a problem.”

Vorpal's face fell. “What's that?”

“Like I mentioned, the cakes are exceedingly popular, and unfortunately I haven't seen one for a while now. And I seem to remembering hearing something from Softpaw – you know, my Wererabbit friend – that they were in short supply.”

“But then what am I going to do?”

“Now, now,” said Dovedale. “I said they were in short supply. I should be able to find some for you. But it will take some time, perhaps. And there is of course, a small price for my services.” She glanced in the Prince's direction. “If, for example, I was to get some Forget-Me-Knot tea...”

“No,” said Vorpal quickly. “Remember he is for the Queen of Hearts. I'll just have to owe you a favour in the future.” She suspected she would regret making so open an offer to the whimsical and chaotic cat, but it was a far better situation than seeing the prince ravished.

Dovedale smirked and shrugged. “Very well, darling. I shall leave you with your 'princess' then.”

“Please be so good as to hurry,” said Vorpal. 

Dovedale grinned. “You've always been such a worry-wart, Vorpal my dear. I know for a fact the Queen is currently distracted by some other intrigue or delight. It will be a while before she recalls your little mission. But I'll not tarry.” And with that she bowed to Vorpal and then vanished –

– only to reappear next to the prince. She flicked the hem of his nightdress up with her tail, exposing his underwear again, and slipped her arms around his neck. 

“Till later, my delicious 'princess'...”

And then vanished just as Vorpal, exasperated, swung at her with her tail. 

Naveen grabbed his nightdress again. “Are… are all your friends like her?”

Vorpal shook her head, but she meant it otherwise than as an answer to the prince's question. Friends? She had only the one friend, really. And Dovedale had been the one who'd approached her. Vorpal had treated the whimsical cat frostily at first, but Dovedale's cheerfulness and high energy, although still annoying, had done much to improve her own more sombre moods. She was not as unhappy as she had been before the trickster cat had dropped into her life with her lewd jokes and wide grin.

Yes, Vorpal was a loner by nature. Many dragons were. No dragon could share her hoard, after all. They were jealous creatures. Perhaps jabberwocks were less so, but she had never got on with the other jabberwocks. For one thing, their arrogant pride annoyed her. Each of them considered herself the lewdest creature of Wonderland and were constantly vying to outdo each other in erotic exploits. Where did that leave her, Vorpal? A sad, frustrated old maid with a big butt and wide hips.

The prince was watching her. His blue eyes were nervous, but she saw something else there, too. Pity? Concern, perhaps, but it was a little too close to pity for her liking. 

She would not be pitied by a human! 

“Why must you stand around staring like that!” she snapped. “And wearing that nightdress, as well.” She muttered to herself. “I will have to go find you some more suitable attire.”

A mean smile slipped onto her lips. Ah yes, more suitable attire! 

“Wait here, princess. I shall be back soon.”

The boy frowned at the name, but said nothing as she turned and left.

\-----------------------------

Vorpal rolled the great rock across the entrance to her den. Maybe she did not fear the 'princess' trying to escape – she knew her threat had rung true in his ears, after all – but she was far less trustful of the denizens of Wonderland. There were many creatures which would not think twice before entering an open den and ravishing whoever they found there. March Hares were the worse, by far, although Jubs Jubs were also a threat.

Ah, but with everything else that had gone wrong, at least the princess had indeed proven to be a virgin. And a beauty, at that.

Vorpal sighed. What had Dovedale said about Forget-Me-Knot tea? 

She shook her head. Foolish thoughts! Even if their plan with the gender-switching cakes worked, there was no way that the Queen of Hearts would be tricked in that fashion! No doubt she would smell Vorpal upon him, her copious juices, the smell of male seed recently ejaculated.

Vorpal shivered and took to the air. Her great smooth wings beat the air deeply and she rose higher, where the breeze was colder, hoping it would cool her body.

No. Flying only made things worse. Her blood always flowed faster when she flew. 

She tried to get images of the prince from out of her head. Oh, why had she had that fantasy of the boy-knight with his face and body? 

Ah, but that would be a male worthy of parting her thighs for!

No, such thoughts were dangerous and foolish. Better to focus on the job at hand. Yes. She would find some clothes appropriate to the princess.

And she knew just where to find them.

\------------------------

Naveen had spent the last few hours exploring the jabberwock's den, in part from a desire to find an escape route, but also out of curiosity. The truth was, the jabberwock's threat still weighed heavy on him.

His mother had drummed it into him every since he'd started to become a man that he must keep himself pure.

“Your body belongs to your future wife,” she had said. “And you must defend your chastity with your life. Without it, you are better off dead.”

It was lucky, then, that the jabberwock had been charged with protecting him. The way she'd become annoyed at the Cheshire Cat's behaviour had made him feel safer. He no longer feared she was going to ravish him. She was just like the soldiers back home in the castle, charged with guarding his virginity. And the Queen of Hearts knew better than to let anything happen to him – his mother would not want him back at any price if his virginity had been taken from him.

And yet… despite her lashing tongue and her quick temper and her frowns and muttering, the jabberwock Vorpal seemed a good person beneath it all. 

His investigation of the den was then, in part, an attempt to find out more about his captor as much as it was looking for a potential escape route, if it ever became necessary.

The main chamber with the couch he had lain on, the table against the wall, topped with a mirror, and the bookcases , all centred around the nest of hoarded gold, was where she seemed to spend much of her time. After the magic of the Cheshire Cat, it had returned to its previous state of neatness. Even the mound of treasure was neat, in its own way. The gold was heaped evenly and the jewels were arranged in attractive drifts throughout. There was a hollow, just the right shape for her body, made as she rested there. Yes, from the curvaceous hollows, it was clear that a voluptuous dragonness slept there at night.

He swallowed. Yes, she was indeed curvaceous. The little contact he had had with women had mostly been with the elderly maid servants or the soldiers or his mother, or, unpleasantly, with the aristocratic women he had been forced to spend time with, suitors for his hand. Far older than him, not many of them had been attractive, and even the ones who had been attractive had been supercilious or cold or arrogant. 

Arrogant. His current captor was arrogant, it was true. And she was prone to fits of temper, too. But Vorpal was different, somehow. 

Naveen sighed. It was just because she was a monster. It was impossible for a human to understand a monster, after all. 

He looked over the books in the bookcase that the Cheshire Cat had replaced with her magic. He'd glanced at a few titles on the bent covers as he'd picked them up off the floor. Strange names, like The Adventures of a Licentious Maid Servant and A True Account of the Amours of a Lady of Worth. Surely not the high literature he was forced to learn in order to be come an educated husband able to discourse with his wife about any matter she pleased. Few of the suitors he had met had seemed to care about history and poetry and the other subjects he was taught by his tutor.

He picked a book at random and thumbed through its pages.

“The young man carried me in my faint to the bedchamber. He was stronger than his slender build had given me cause to believe.

“What are you doing?” I asked him, trying not to think to much of warm, firm chest pressed against my side, his arms beneath my knees and under my arm in that most delightful embrace usually enjoyed by a newly-wed bride being carried over the threshold.

“Hush milady,” he murmured. “You fell in a faint. I am merely taking you to your bed.”

“To my bed?” My face flushed. Such a chivalrous young man! And yet…

He placed me gently on the embroidered duvet and I only at last slid my arms from around his neck, where I had held them as he had carried me, with stinging regret. I arranged my night-dress which had ridden up, exposing my ankles and the bottom of my calves and it was the boy's turn to blush.

“I... I hope you will feel better soon, milady,” he said, his eyes refusing to meet mine. He turned, but I reached up and grabbed his hand.

“Oh, dear boy, please do not be so eager to leave me. I –” And here my pride was swallowed and I fell back on the most disarming weapon of a woman – pity. “I fear another attack. Stay with me, please, and talk to me.”

The boy glanced at me, tried to avoid the sight of my now heaving bosom. “But milady – it would be unseemly.”

“It is not unseemly to merely converse,” I said. 

“But there is no chair for me here,' began the boy.

“The bed will suffice,” I said. “Sit here beside me.” And I pulled him down onto the bed. He came with a gentle yelp, stifled so as not to wake the others who at this dark hour were all deep in sleep. 

He bounced and with a laugh I steadied him. He really was a slender little thing! I did not immediately drop his hand, but like the wanton my heart was driving me to become, I held on to it and was even so bold as to place my other hand atop it and stroke the soft, smooth…

Naveen shut the book. His heart was racing. Oh, so it was a book of that sort. He put it back. Were these really all books of that sort? 

But then the beings of Wonderland were all lustful in that way, were they not? The tales he had heard!

But he had also always heard of how vile and terrible the creatures were, how they tainted and corrupted all that they touched, that Wonderland was a haunt of demons and evil. He glanced about the room, at the elegant furniture. It was all very tastefully decorated, actually. A cave, it was true, but there was little doubt a lady lived here. Only the great mound of gold and jewels gave any hint at the true nature of its inhabitant. 

He moved over the to the great table with the mirror balanced against the wall atop it. A little treasure trove of make-up bottles and perfumes and rouge and powders lay to one side, and a bench had been puled up against it. A dresser! But one fit for the formidable body of a jabberwock.

There was something charming about the size of the bench, how it didn't fit with the table. The prince imagined how Vorpal would look, perched on it, attending to her long lashes, applying her lip stain, powdering her cheeks with rouge!

Oh, but the rouge did not seem to have been used. Perhaps it was there for the sake of completeness. Her complexion was already pink and healthy, unlike those awful old women who had come to ask his hand, the ones with the cold hands that would touch him whenever his mother left him alone with them.

Vorpal, seated here, in her nightclothes. Did she wear nightclothes? But of course she must. She would not wear that outfit while she slept – although it covered little and did more to draw attention to her deep décolletage and the smooth nakedness of her stomach. How then would her nightclothes be able to reveal more?

Naveen swallowed. No, he mustn't think of such things. He felt the heat flowing to that shameful part of him, felt the insides of his bones melting. He shook his head free of the daze. No, he had to find some way to escape. Stories of the rapacity of the monsters outside the den might just be that – stories intended to keep him shut in, as much a part of the prison as the great stone she'd pulled across the cave entrance.

He ducked down the corridor, found the bathroom and the other amenities. The bathroom was lavish, with a huge bath that had been cut into the stone. There were great cut marks in the naked stone – had her claws done that? And yet, like everything else, there was a feminine feel to everything. Tiles had been laid around the bath and there was a maze of luxurious copper piping. 

He rubbed at his greasy brow. A bath would be welcome. But no… he had only a short while to find a way out. 

There was another room, but it appeared to be a storeroom of some sort, with furniture and boxes and unseen objects covered by oilcloths – the jabberwock's miscellaneous booty? A quick inspection revealed no obvious escape route. He returned, then, to the front chamber and pressed a hand against the great slab of rock. Of course, it did not move. It was like pushing against a cliff-side. 

He was not strong, but he knew that even the burliest of his mother's knights would also not have been able to move it.

Naveen fell back with a sigh against the stone. So. That was that, then. He would have to find some other way to manage his escape. Or else, wait until his mother paid the ransom.

The stone moved. He yelped and stumbled forward, wheeling around to see great talons appear in between the rock and the cave wall. 

Those talons! Were they even the jabberwock's? They could be another monster's after all. What was he going to do?

But then the grinning maw of one of Vorpal's tentacles slipped inside and the prince breathed a sigh of surprising relief. No, it was just her.

Vorpal finished pushing the rock aside. The prince was there, watching her nervously. He must have been waiting near the door. Had he been waiting for her, like some faithful puppy? Vorpal smiled at the thought, but then she frowned at the ridiculousness of the idea. She strode in and tossed the great weight of her purloined booty on the table. 

“A successful raid,” she said. “There will no doubt be some clothes there that you will find appropriate.”

The prince glanced at her, then at the clothes – a mass of expensive material and embroidery, all jumbled up. He walked over to it and began to look through the collection. It was true, some more appropriate clothes would me most welc–

“But all of this is women's clothing!” he cried. He let the silken bloomers fall from his hands. Dresses, petticoats, a great mass of lace…

Vorpal grinned at the look on his face. She had expected a reaction, but not one as delicious as this! “Yes,” she said. “And all your size as well. Please feel free to use any and all of it.”

He flushed crimson. “But… but there's nothing suitable!”

“Oh,” said Vorpal. “I think all of it is most suitable for a beautiful princess like you.” And with that she grabbed hold of the material of the night dress at his shoulder. The prince yelped and made to flee but she lifted him up with ease, leaving his feet sweeping the air. “This nightdress needs to be washed and I will not have you lounging around in it. Now go!”

She let him drop to the ground. “No doubt you found the bathroom while I was gone – no secret escape hatch, of course. Go and wash yourself and make yourself beautiful. The Queen may call on us at any time and I do not want to suffer her wrath if I take you to her in a lamentable condition.”

The prince stared at her and Vorpal saw indignation in his eyes. He was good at masking his emotions, like any aristocrat, in the interest of manners. She must have pushed him far enough. 

Vorpal smiled. She had had her fun, for now. Let the boy have a moments peace from her bullying!

“There are towels in the small cupboard outside the door of the bathroom,” she said. “Use as many as you wish.”

The prince frowned at the mass of clothes, but then he grabbed some of the less lacy shorts and disappeared down the corridor. 

Vorpal climbed onto her golden hoard. She shifted some scratchy jewels with her tail, smoothed an ample depression with her tentacles, and lay down. 

The sound of water running reverberated around the den. The old copper pipes made a din, but it was worth it for the delicious hot water they brought. A gremlin had installed them for her and it had been worth the jewels she had paid for it with.

Vorpal lay back. She would bathe soon, too – the sweat of the raid was still sharp upon her. She ran a tentacle down her bare stomach. Yes, that feeling of leftover exertion. Her scent must be strong, too. 

She murmured with pleasure. There was another scent here now, too. The boy's. She'd noticed it as she came back in. A delightfully masculine scent, musky but also gently floral, like freshly laundered clothes. 

He would lose some of it with his washing, but it would come back. 

Vorpal imagined him exploring the many soaps and scents and potions in the bathroom. He would be curious, of course, as an aristocrat. She acquired for herself only the best of such alchemy and he would not be left wanting for something appropriate to the luxurious tastes of a prince. He would be foaming them up right now, applying it to his body, that white, slender body, with the girlish thighs. 

Vorpal squirmed. She should have taken him to the bathroom, stripped him of his clothes as part of the bullying game. It would have done him no harm and it would have seemed perfectly natural in her role as his villainous captor. She could have got a good look at his body, felt his nakedness. Now, if she wished to do the same, she would need to burst in there and the thought of a pretence left her rattled. She imagined herself leering, offering to wash him, like some bizarre rapist and she frowned at the thought. 

She got up. There was no way she would be able to relax now. She glanced at the books, thought better of it. 

She went to the bathroom. There, hanging on the peg on the outside of the door, were his nightclothes. He had taken the bloomers in, no doubt to wear them straight away once he was dry. She slipped the cupboard open. He had taken a single towel. Well, that was enough for his slight body. She used two or three at a time. Her tail and wings made it necessary. 

She took up the nightdress. Lovely material. She brought it absent mindedly to her face. Yes, his scent. A little strong, perhaps. It would need to be washed. 

Vorpal knew a few spells for washing, but magic had never really been her forte. She preferred the physical to the magical, after all. She would wash it along with her clothes, once he was out.

With the nightdress in her hands her heart skipped. Ah, maybe there was a further trick she could play with him.

Naveen would have tarried in the bath for an age if he had not found the experience of lying there in his captor's bath mildly alarming. The soaps Vorpal had had were of the finest quality and he felt himself reborn with his hair and body cleansed. There had even been paste for his teeth. 

The hot water sought to keep him there, but he got out at last. The door to the bathroom was threatening and he feared the jabberwock would burst in at any minute, with some other bullying in mind. 

But she did not and as he dried himself with the excellent cotton towel he looked at himself in the mirror.

He blinked his blue eyes. His whole body was pink with the heat. Oh, by the Gods, she had not been so wrong to mistake him for a girl! How he wished he had that stern, chiselled handsomeness he had seen in many of the castle's guards. 

He grew aware of his nakedness and in a blush he looked about for the bloomers. Yes, he would need to change his underwear, but the nightdress would have to suffice for a while longer. He could not wear those frilly dresses the jabberwock had brought for him!

He slipped into the bloomers. Oh, but they were comfortable. He glanced at his profile in the misty mirror. His thighs and buttocks gave a slender shape to them. Girls were lucky to wear such luxurious things, he thought, then blushed at the naivety of the thought. 

Stupid! He snorted and went to the door. He opened it and peeped out.

No jabberwock. He heard her moving around in the living part of the den, the golden tinking of coins shifting.

He went to grab his nightdress, but found a dress hanging there instead. After a moment's confusion he pulled it against his bare chest and padded into the living room.

“Where are my clothes?” he demanded. 

Vorpal blinked at him. “Your nightdress? Oh, I'm washing that dirty old thing.”

“But I cannot wear this!”

“Well,” said Vorpal and she arched her eyebrows and smirked dramatically. “You can always wear just those bloomers, then. I do not mind. You are certainly not an uncomely sight, half-clothed, princess.”

The prince opened his mouth to protest, but then he shut it and steeled his face. He turned and stalked away. He would not give this bully the satisfaction! He would wear this dress and act as though nothing was wrong.

He swallowed as he turned the dress over in his hands. At least the jabberwock had chosen a pretty one. 

He shook his head. Just pull it over yourself and be done with this foolish game! He would not let the jabberwock think she had got to him with her teasing. 

The dress slipped easily over his slender form. Perhaps it was a little loose in the front, where a woman with even a modest bust would be able to amply full the form-fitting garment, but it hugged his hips. He glanced at himself in the mirror. Well, at least the jabberwock's choice had been tasteful. There were many modern garments which could have been far worse. As it was, he could work with this.

He strode out into the living room with purpose. “Here,” he said, and he did a twirl. “Is this to my captor's liking?”

Vorpal was surprised by his sudden, proud appearance. The petticoats of the dress swirled about him as he moved with elegance – not feminine elegance, but the confident grace of a prince. His feet found their place again and he stepped back, surprised at himself. He glanced down, his proud expression replaced with one of blushing surprise. 

Vorpal did not know whether his earlier proud appearance or how it had so quickly shifted to embarrassment was the more attractive. As it was, she found herself flushing as well, but she quickly shook herself free of the sudden weakness. She shifted her open mouth into a lewd and arrogant grin.

“Very nice, princess,” she said. “That is indeed most satisfactory. You make a delightful addition to the treasures of this room.”

The prince blinked at her. He fought back his own blush and his eyes flashed with something like annoyance. “So,” he said. “Shall I throw myself on your treasure pile, then? Or do you have some other place you wish to display me?” But the look passed and he smiled at the thought of being a piece of furniture in this jabberwock's lair. Hadn't he been just that, back in his mother's castle? Hadn't he been raised and pampered and dressed up, as much an item of display as his mother's expensive tapestries and statues and fine gardens? Wasn't this prison really just a change of scenery in the ongoing play that was his life?

The thought swept all the confidence from him. 

Vorpal saw the strange slump of his smile and the sudden sadness in his eyes. Unable to read it, she grew annoyed. “Until the Queen of Heart is ready to summon you, you can do whatever you wish. But perhaps you might make yourself useful, if only to ward off boredom.” 

The boy shifted on his feet. “I've never been particularly useful,” he said.

Vorpal ran a talon through her crests. “A princess surely learns many things. How did you spend your time in your mother's castle?”

“Well, I did learn a few things,” said the boy. “Singing, the lyre, dance, manners, poetry...”

Ha! Vorpal sat herself back against her treasure pile. Now it comes out. 

“But none of that is very useful,” he protested.

“You sell yourself short,” said Vorpal. “Perhaps they are not the most practical skills, but surely any future queen would be happy to have a husband with such talents.” She lay down. Thoughts of being a sedentary queen like the sort that the human world was filled with amused her. Lounging on her bed, a pretty husband to amuse the long hours of her leisure, keep her bed warm. Her tail whipped the air. A most diverting thought!

Naveen watched the jabberwock stretch herself out. Just as he'd imagined when looking at the curved depressions in the top of the mound and how her voluptuous body would fit in. Her large breasts squished down under her weight, her buttocks high in the air, her tail whipping back and forth. The twin tentacles slipped sleepily around the base of her wings. So different from a human! And yet there were humans who looked a little like her, all curves and powerful limbs and lewd and earthy grins. There had been a Captain of the Guard like that once, her body perhaps not quite as overgenerous as the jabberwock's, but her curves had been voluptuous and he'd taken any opportunity to sneak down to the square to watch her as she put the soldiers through their paces. Her loud voice, her flashing eyes, the rippling of her muscles beneath the leather of her uniform. Once she had caught him looking at her and she had winked at him, her lips curling into a knowing smile. 

He had fled, and that evening he had found himself tormented by thoughts of her, of having her muscular body pressing him down, of her lips thrust against his. 

She had made a game of it, making sure she was stretching or otherwise on display for him. But it was at a royal engagement, where he had seen her for the first time without her uniform, dressed in a flowing dress with a plunging neckline. Her breasts, usually bound for the ready slipping-on of a cuirass, were free and magnificent. She had curtsied to him, her eyes promising much. But his mother had been watching and the Regess, jealous, had seen to it that the Captain of the Guard was sent to one of their oversea colonies and quickly replaced – by a man this time, with hairy arms like moss-covered tree-trunks.

Vorpal had the same confident stretch in her body. She made the den her own just by lying there. 

“Well,” she said. “I know that it is not real fit job for a princess, but you were so adept at tidying those books earlier perhaps you can tidy my lair. I seem to recall that your own room in the castle was very neat.”

The boy glanced about the lair. Yes, everything was rather cluttered. The furniture was beautiful but not effectively positioned, the books well-maintained but in need of organisation. 

“Of course,” she said, the mocking grin coming unbidden to her lips. “If you'd prefer to regale me with a song –”

“No,” he said. “I'll be happy to help.” Naveen didn't want to be thought of as one of those pretty and useless princes, even though the jabberwock's questions had revealed him to be just that. And besides, he would get an opportunity to investigate the storage room he had not had time to earlier. Perhaps there was some exit he had overlooked, some secret door…

Vorpal sighed. Her teasing bluff had been called. She'd really thought he'd actually sing for her. Stupid! Like she wanted him to sing for her. She'd read that in many of her romances. The prince, or knight, serenading his lady. 

But this was no knight. And she was no blushing lady. 

She shifted her great body. For not the first time she felt out of place in this voluptuous body. And yet the boy had seemed to find her attractive – at least, that was how she had read his blushing glances at her. Her breasts, of course. All boys liked breasts, and princes – even princes who made better princesses – would not be immune from that. 

The thought soothed her annoyance, as did the readiness of the boy to make himself useful. Vorpal lowered her eyelids, but kept the single slit of one eye open. An old dragon trick, useful to keep a jealous watch over a hoard even when asleep. But she did not feign sleep – that would be ridiculous. Instead, she let languor take her limbs.

The boy went to her bookshelf first. He had helped her reshelve her books earlier, and now she noticed the methodical way he had placed books of the same height of spine together. Her own side, where Dovedale had helped, was a mere jumble. 

He shifted the furniture, little by little, with every passing as he worked on the clutter. Perhaps he was worried he'd offend her by moving the furniture all at once. But soon her dresser was a far more useful possession, opening up space to access the far chamber. 

Yes, a most useful princess. She should perhaps have brought a maid uniform for him, one of those black dresses with the voluminous petticoats. He so suited the dress he was wearing, and with a duster and a lacy hat he'd make a most amusing sight.

Amusing? As she imagined him dusting in a most ludicrous manner, the image took on a seriousness she had not expected. He was bent over, tending her dresser. The real prince, her slit eye following him, but he became confused with the prince-maid in her mind's eye. She came down off her mound in her dream, sliding on her belly, the cold coins shimmering over her breasts and belly. The sound did not startle him and in a moment she was behind him.

“You missed a spot,” she said, a talon pointing out a spot behind the mirror.

He frowned and leaned over. This princess-maid was far more trusting of her than the prince. He would already have scampered away. But in the dream he did not flee when she slid her arms around him, pressed herself against the soft material of his back. 

“Yes, that's right,” she said. “Just there.”

He leaned over more and she felt his taut buttocks against her crotch. Her tentacles slid forward, joining the hug, gentler than her sharp talons which would have ripped the velvet black cotton and the delicate white lace of his bodice. 

They slid inside and the boy-maid gave forth a gasp. 

She gasped as well. Oh! The cool, smooth skin – invisible to her, but all the more delightful for having every sense but touch shorn away! She could not hold back. The tongues of her tentacles slipped out, a tiny lick at first, the slightest taste. Salt, and the fragrance of a man beneath the sweetness of his perfumed clothes. 

She lowered her face, her breath hot. She flicked the maid's hat aside with a swing of a horn and buried her nose in the soft gold corona of his hair. The fragrance set her mind reeling. 

Naveen finished his adjustment of the dresser. Yes, this way she would be able to see more of the room without the mirror blocking it.

He heard something then. A strange, gentle murmur. 

He turned. It was coming from the jabberwock. He slipped closer.

There was no doubt about it. She was snoring. And yet such a delicate, adorable sound from such a mighty monster!

He dared to move closer still. While awake, he had kept his distance from her, but curiosity drove him forward. A monster, and he was her captive, at least for a little while. 

He knew he should use the time to search for a way out, but surely he could spare a few glances….

She had fallen asleep lying on her stomach. Her breathing lifted her up and down on her ample chest. It didn't hurt her to lie on such hard coins and gemstones? But then, she was a dragon. Her skin, no matter how pink and soft it looked, was used to it. A dragon's skin, despite its womanly charms, could turn the point of a non-magical blade with ease. Everyone had heard the stories.

She was more than amply blessed in the chest and her cleavage in this position was deeper still. Her arms were laid out in front of her, as though she was clinging onto her hoard, and she had quested her talons deep into the pile of treasure. As she slept, her crest twitched.

The boy stepped back. Was she going to wake up? But no, she was just dreaming. He came closer again to check. Her eyes were closed, the thick, dark lashes gentle against her cheekbones. Her lips were pursed and he was close enough to smell her breath. A woman's breath, sweet with sleep.

Asleep, her fierceness and mockery gone, the jabberwock's beauty was left unmasked. Her face was indeed as gorgeous as any he had ever seen – not delicate, as with some faces, but her strong features were well-placed and gave her an earthy rather than an aristocratic air. He was reminded again of that captain of the guard.

He glanced down. Vorpal's boobs were even bigger than hers had been. 

The glance became a stare. He felt hot shame, but that did not stop him from looking. The rise and fall of her chest deepened and shallowed the ravine of her cleavage.

Yes, her skin was without blemish, and would be like silk under his hands. Even her scales, the armour all dragons had, looked velvet-smooth. He wondered how they too would feel. But of course he did not dare touch her.

Vorpal stirred again in her sleep. He did not step back this time, worried his movement might wake her. Her eyes darted beneath their lids. Her mouth opened and she sighed. Her tail lifted up and gave a little twist, then fell back down. Her tentacles, like twins sleeping together, shifted in unison.

She rolled over, away from him, lifting her knees and stretching out her arms into a more comfortable position. Faced away from him, he moved back in safety. 

Her short skirt had ridden up over her buttocks and he saw then for the first time that she was wearing lacy panties, snowy white against the beautiful tan of her skin. 

Naveen swallowed. Every instinct, every manner he had been taught screamed at him to turn away, but he could not. The sheerness of the material, taught across her wide and ample bottom, was hypnotising. Her tail had lifted itself again – it was as though it had its own mind when she was dreaming – and its movements pushed her skirt further to one side. The dark skin of her back was revealed, stark against the white of her underwear. She had dimples on the small of her back.

There was no controlling it, now. The prince felt that shameful feeling between his legs. He was already hard as a rock and his erection pressed against the material of the bloomers. He grimaced. There was nothing he could do about it. He tried thinking of mathematical tables, of the long boring lessons he'd had to endure with his tutor. But Vorpal replaced that tutor in his mind and instead of the shrivelled old man, his skin like a human walnut, the plump-skinned jabberwock was leaning over him from behind, pressing her breasts against his back, the sweetness of her breath wafting across his bare neck. 

Naveen fled, then. He went to the bathroom, lifted the hem of his dress to find his erection pushing forward the front of the bloomers. There was already a dark stain there. With a glance at the doorway, he pulled the bloomers down. His member burst free, in full array. 

He took a cloth and went to clean himself, but instead he tossed it aside, slid his hand over his erection and stroked it.

Exquisite pleasure shivered up the full length of his body. His knees trembled and he fell back on the edge of the bath.

He closed his eyes. Vorpal appeared straight away. She looked down between his legs and then back at him and smiled, that same lewd smile he'd seen before. 

She came closer, her hips swinging, her tail high in the air. She fell to her knees before him, her face dropping lower, her breath hot against his sex. Her amber eyes stared up at him, huge, and she licked the lips of a hungry grin.

Oh gods! Was she really going to…?

He came then, explosively, shamefully, thick white strings of his semen bursting over his feverishly stroking hand. His teeth scored his lip, the pain turning to a pleasure that made his spine ache and his limbs tremble.

He lay there, panting, the sweet languor of his after-climax making his body slack. But he forced his eyes open to look at the doorway, fearful Vorpal might have heard something.

He quickly drew some hot water then, as quietly as possible, and cleaned himself up. He felt regret, but with it a warm, relieved delight that still tantalised his bones. He placed the rinsed towel under the clothes he had left for Vorpal to wash earlier, feeling every bit a guilty child hiding something shameful from his mother. 

He slunk back to the living room. Vorpal was on her back now. Thankfully, her skirt had slid back down. But her breasts were flat and huge on her chest and he felt the miracle of a second stirring between his legs.

Naveen retreated, then, to the far chamber, out of sight of the sleeping jabberwock.

–--------------------- 

Vorpal woke. Oh gods, she'd fallen asleep! Not just asleep, but she had dreamed as well.

She squirmed. Why in Wonderland did she feel so sticky there? Then she recalled the dream and a flush slipped over her face. Oh. The prince – no, the princess. Where was he?

Yawning hugely and stretching her wings she eased herself up. The heel of a claw tested between her thighs. Oh gods, she was sopping! She could smell herself, that sharp, spicy aroma of her excitement. 

Had she come in her dream? Ah, no. Her heart still beat hot and fast and the pressure of her claw sent a thrill up along her spine. 

Where was her princess? He must be around here somewhere. He had seemed so determined to work for his keep.

Vorpal slid off the mound, the coins shifting with a tinkling shimmer. A quick scan of the room revealed nothing. 

The excitement in her heart shifted tone. Oh no. Had he…?

But there was no way he could have escaped! Unless… unless somehow he had stumbled upon that secret tunnel in the far chamber. But there was no way he could have…

In a rising panic, she hurried to the far chamber, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. 

She saw him as soon as she parted the curtain. He was on the floor, curled up on the little pile of embroidered cushions she had taken from that mansion in Welsple. He'd grown cold and pulled the cover of the lyre, one of her favourite treasures, down upon himself, but he had kicked it free and it now lay in a creased pile beside him. He was sleeping on his side, his legs pulled up against his chest. 

Vorpal drew closer and he frowned. Ah. He was dreaming, too. Of her, his captor. That was why he was frowning. Her recently calming heart was pierced at the thought. But no… he shivered and murmured, and she knew what had produced that frown. He was just cold.

She padded closer and took hold of the cover. She wanted to get him a proper blanket, but she was worried he would wake. His face seemed so at peace. She drew the cover over his slender body and tucked it in. 

He smiled and turned over. Her heart skipped. What was he dreaming now? Of her? Or did someone else make him smile?

Annoyance skittered through her chest, and she rankled. Why had she bothered to place that cover over him? He was her servant, not she his!

But no, he wasn't a servant. That had been in her dream. She was just an errand girl, or rather a babysitter, looking after the property of the Queen of Hearts.

He murmured and drew the cover closer against himself. He was still cold. Better the cover had been a blanket. 

Oh, better still she join him there, on the floor, and warm him with the rapid blood flowing through her body!

The annoyance shifted again. She felt a tightness in her chest, a liquid flow below the waist. Such a beautiful thing, lying here on her treasure-room floor, and she could not have it!

He shifted again and the cover rode up. His slender legs were revealed. 

She knelt down to cover him again. He would grow cold again like that. 

Ah, she could look at him, admire those marble soft legs all she wished, but she could not touch him. But wait, that was not true, was it? He only needed to be intact, a virgin. She could still touch him.

Wantonness rose in her heart and her whole body tingled with a gentle but relentless fire which flowed up and down her limbs. She pulled the cover higher rather than lower and his thighs were revealed. She swallowed and took the hem of his dress with it, revealing his naked buttocks. 

He wasn't wearing those bloomers any more? But then she noted a fragrance she'd been unable to place when she'd come into the room. That scent, that scent she hadn't smelled in a long time, the thick richness of semen.

As a monster of Wonderland, the smell was an aphrodisiac for her. The trickle of her juices became a flood and she grimaced at the rapidly rising tension in her body.

She let go of the cover, drew her hand away, brushing his naked body – his butt was soft and she lingered, letting the soft fullness fill her cupped claw for a moment, just a moment. Then she trailed her claws along the gentle curve down to the thigh, along it to those delightful depressions at the back of the knee. Then she stroked his calves in a single sweep and regretfully pulled her claw away. 

Her need would not brook any delay. She fell forward onto all fours, spread her thighs and with a claw flicked the front of her skirt savagely away and tore the crotch of her panties aside. Her eyes glued to his naked body she brought the soft heel of her other claw against her button. It was rock hard and slick . Vorpal pressed it, hard, and bit back a cry as pleasure exploded through her.

The first burst of pleasure brought even greater tension with it and she brought her tentacles, writhing with need and drooling, along her stomach. 

One pulled down her sopping panties with its teeth, the other sent its flicking, eager tongue dancing over her. 

Vorpal bit her lips savagely to stop from crying out, drawing blood, but the pain was sublimated at once to the most exquisite delight. She drew her legs together, kicked them to help the tentacle with her panties in its teeth draw them down lower. Then she grabbed the sodden material, now around her knees with a talon, letting the other tentacle joins its twin in swirling its tongue over her spasming sex. 

Her flavour was rich, hot and thick… how long was it since she tasted herself? The tentacles drooled, then one plunged its long tongue into her.

Oh! Oh how she wished it could be the prince taking her, making her his! Her eyes devoured his naked, sleeping form. She should grab him, toss him over and bring him to hardness with her hungry mouth. Then she would mount him, not caring for any protests, ride that delicious maleness of him until he filled her with his pungent semen, the smell of which seemed to fill the air, mixing with her own in her hypersensitive excitement. 

She moved closer. The lingering scent of his semen drew her. She stopped on trembling knees and stared, her open mouth drooling, at the smooth, white form of the boy.

Vorpal leaned down, drawing in more of the scent, the lewd smell mixed with the clean warm fragrance of his sleeping body. 

No. Of course she could not. She could not!

But she did anyway. She brought her lips against his skin, felt the smooth warmth, and darted out the tip of her hungry tongue. 

The flavour of him, the saltiness of his skin, sent a bolt of pleasure straight between her legs. She licked again and a further bolt followed it. She drew her tongue over the delightful curve of his buttocks, breathing in the heady scent of his body.

She melted inside, her brain, her marrow, her heart. The slithering tongues of her twin tentacles were greeted with a flood of her desire and their lips and heads grew slimy with it.

Her flavour and that of the boy melded together. She drew her tongue a final, desperate, hungry sweep down the ridge between the cheeks of his butt, across that rough intimate spot and down over the soft swelling of his testicles.

The boy stirred and gasped in his sleep.

And with that sweet sound of pleasure darting sleepily from his lips Vorpal fell back, her knees collapsing beneath her, as her climax tore through her. Her vision went white and all she could feel was that terrible need, that tension holding her body to ransom, finally break in a spasm that sent joy pouring through her. She kicked out her legs as her twin tentacles twisted and coiled between her lewdly spread legs, sharing the delight of the rest of her shuddering body, and they intertwined their slick heads and delved their flickering tongues into each other's drooling mouths.

Then, the ghost of her orgasm still coursing through her exhausted body, Vorpal crawled away, as though she had been mortally wounded, a proud and arrogant dragon reduced to a fragile and broken thing.

She made it back to her hoard, climbed up it as though scaling a great mountain, and at last collapsed forward and let the intoxicating languor pouring over her to claim her body.

If only she could be lying beside him now, his body cradled in hers, his breath and beating heart shared by her own body. If only he was hers, if only the Queen of Hearts, if only the Queen of Hearts had not…


	2. The Jabberwock's Treasure

Naveen woke to find a pair of clothes neatly arrayed beside him. He jerked up, horrified. He'd fallen asleep! Fallen asleep while trying to find out as much as he could about Vorpal from all the items here in her treasure room. The lyre… he'd been looking at the lyre. 

And he'd had the strangest dream. He'd felt as though he'd been surrounded by her tentacles, felt their tongues licking his body.

He lifted the hem of his dress. Oh god. The underwear! Had Vorpal noticed he hadn't been wearing any, had she found the stained pair he'd desperately tried to wash himself? Was that's why there were more clothes here for him?

He looked them over. But these were no woman's clothes. They were the fashionable clothes of a young man – laced top, leather pants, and normal, white, plain underwear, with a jacket. They were the sort of thing he would wear on a casual day, free of duties, when he could go hawking or ride in the forest – a brief time of freedom, although his mother the Queen was always sure to have some soldier or other shadowing his every movement, Still, such moments were always long-awaited and passed all too quickly.

Now he was free of his mother… but still a prisoner. And yet, this imprisonment did not weigh so heavily on him. Even with Vorpal's teasing, her arrogant pride, he did not hate spending time with her. 

The strangeness of the realisation made him shake his head. He took the clothes, washed and put them on.

They fit perfectly. 

The bathroom was misty, the scent of fragrant oils and shampoos lingering in the air. Ah, but Vorpal must have bathed while he was asleep, safe in the knowledge that he would not be able to use the time to escape. 

He wondered if she was still asleep. He moved towards the doorway, his heart pumping, a strange tension flooding his body. Oh, but he should leave her to sleep. That last time, when he had watched her… that had scarcely been the princely thing to do. And yet…

But Vorpal was awake. She was sitting at her dresser, applying make-up. When she noticed him, she turned.

“Ah, so you're awake at last.”

Her lips wore a frown, but her eyes sparkled at him. Those eyes! They really were beautiful. But why, now… 

Oh, but she was wearing eye shadow.

“Thank you,” said Naveen, lowering his eyes. He did not want to stare. “For the clothes.”

“There are those regal manners again,” said Vorpal. “You are most welcome.” 

As the prince entered the room Vorpal put the finishing touches of eye-liner. He was trying to avoid looking at her. Her heart skipped and she fought back a smile. Ah, but males were all the same! They loved to see a female in make-up. 

How long had it been since she'd worn it? It had always seemed such a foolish affectation. And yet it made her feel powerful, now.

“I have been a bad host,” said Vorpal. “A guest of the Queen of Hearts should not be mistreated. So I thought tonight we might share some food and drink.”

She swept a hand at the new table which stood in the centre of the room where the old one had been. Small plates gleamed there, arrayed with colourful delicacies, and at one end sat a large wooden cask, no doubt of ale since two tankards rested atop it. 

“Magic?” gasped the prince.

“Ha ha, no,” said Vorpal. “I had my friend Dovedale deliver us some Wonderland food – there is always more than enough at hand, given my friends' love of tea-parties. But worry not – it is of the benign kind. I stressed this. Sometimes we delight in flavours and texture of food in their own right, you know, not for their effects.”

The prince stepped toward the table, his eyes never once having left the food. Vorpal felt a twinge of regret. For all her joking, she truly had been an awful host. He must be starving.

“Please help yourself,” she said. “But I should warn you – the meal is not free.”

The prince turned, frowning, his eyes suddenly full of disappointment. Vorpal decided the joke had not really been worth the effort.

“Why that face? I'm merely speaking of entertainment. Perhaps you would be kind enough to supply it? You said you played the lyre,” she said. “I have one.”

Naveen blushed. Surely she knew that he knew! “You… you play as well?”

Vorpal laughed. “Alas, no. Although these talons would perhaps make good picks, don't you suppose?” She sighed. “Not a musical bone in this entire body, though I can appreciate beauty, of course. I took the lyre as for the beauty of its appearance.” She gave a lazy point with a single leathery wing. “It's in the far cave, where I store all the treasures too large or fragile for my bed.”

Ah, the room he'd found before on his exploration of the cave. So it was indeed a treasure room.

“Go on,” she said. “If we are to live together for even a little while, I will not have you stand on ceremony, especially since we will be drinking together. I can't stand it. Please find the lyre and bring it here.”

He already knew where to find it. He took hold of the lyre, carefully wrapped in an its cover, and brought it back into the living room. It was heavy and he walked slowly.

“Yes,” said Vorpal. “That's the one. Go on, Open it.”

He tentatively pulled the cover away. The gold he'd glimpsed in his initial examination, now unmasked, set its glow about the room. He gasped.

“It's so beautiful!”

Vorpal sighed. His words of praise pleased her. It was true, she did have good eye for beautiful things. Her eyes slipped over the newly clad prince. Ah, even though he'd been a delight for the eyes in that dress, his slender form was equally beautiful in clothes more appropriate to his gender, shifting his girlish beauty into a boyish and rakish charm.

His eyes slipped over the strings and they sang out. He looked up, his face alight with boyish delight.

“Oh, but this is already tuned!”

“It is enchanted,” explained Vorpal. “A fine treasure.”

And finer still in your beautiful hands, she thought to herself.

The boy-prince let the tips of his fingers dance across the strings again, as though he could not resist touching the instrument. This time it was no mere test, but the chords of a song. But as soon as the gorgeous trill began to fill the air, he stopped.

Vorpal started forward, frowning. “What's the matter? You don't want to play for me?”

“Oh,” said the prince, startled by her intense reaction. “Oh no. It's just I have no idea what I should play.”

“What was that piece you began just then?”

“Oh that?” He blushed. “Just a stupid practise exercise.” 

Vorpal's amber eyes narrowed. “I know little of music, truly, but that was no exercise. It was the beginning of a longer piece. I do not know it.”

“No,” said the prince. “No, no-one knows it. I… it's a stupid little thing I composed.”

Vorpal's eyes went wide. “You… you wrote that?”

“Well,” said the boy, and he looked away. “Like I said, it's a silly little thing.”

“I want to hear it.”

Naveen opened his mouth, ready with another excuse, but the look of eagerness on the jabberwock's face made the words die on his lips. “Very well,” he said. “But please forgive me if it does not please you.” 

“I shall reserve my judgement until I have heard the rest,” said Vorpal.

She lay back, her tail twitching. His blushing had moved her, where previously such a thing would have annoyed her. Instead, his modesty had been most becoming. She squirmed on her treasure pile, found a comfortable place. 

The prince, ever attentive, waited until she was settle before he began.

His fingers slipped over the string and a gorgeous melody sprang forth. It was different from the section he had played before, but Vorpal could hear shadows of the developed theme in the introduction.

As the music flowed, she felt her heart follow every note. It was a beautiful song, but forlorn, as though something was lost, or rather, something which was long desired had yet to be found. That, at least, was what she felt flowing beneath the melody. But as the song continued, as the prince closed his eyes, grew more confident, his fingers striking every string with delicacy and exactness, the energetic under-note she had heard before grew more pronounced, began to dominate the song – no, not dominate, but rather take the pride of place. The forlorn melody never truly left, shifting in and out, as though dancing with the more fiery dashing of notes.

At last the piece came to its end, with a flourishing climax, the prince's fingers a blur across the shimmering strings. As the final, triumphant cords fled away, that earlier gentle melody reappeared. It had been there, all along, a hidden counter-point, but subtly changed, unnoticed beneath the rousing clashing of the triumphal notes. It had lost it's bitterness, and a sweet, gentle, almost languid tone melted away into the air with a final shimmer, like gold trickling through her talons.

Vorpal jerked forward. Ah, but her heart had followed that melody all the way, drawing her into strange half-sleepy trance. Her eyes had never left the prince's fingers, and now as he drew them away from the still humming strings, her gaze fell on his upturned face. He was flushed, his eyes wide and open, his soft chest heaving. He had given his all to the tune, just for her.

Just for her? You silly, sentimental wyrm!

Yes, it had all been for her. Now, as he looked up at her, his face was eager, a mixture of boyish pride and an embarrassment he was valiantly trying to mask.

Ah. He was wondering whether the song had pleased her.

Vorpal closed her eyes, unwillingly, and sighed. 

Naveen's heart leaped in his chest. High up on the hoard of silver and gold and gems, the jabberwock lay, languidly stretched out the full length of her voluptuous body, her tail whipping the air. He knew now what that signified, that she was happy. She was smiling to herself, too. But her eyes were closed, those exquisite glimmering eyes. And so he was not sure, was not sure whether his song had….

Vorpal opened her eyes, their brightness meeting his gaze.

“My princess,” she said. “I have never heard anything so beautiful.”

He grinned, a gorgeous, victorious grin that pierced Vorpal to her heart. 

“I – I'm glad you enjoyed my song, milady.”

Milady. The word hung in the air, shimmering, just as the last notes of his beautiful song had. Had… had he ever called her that before? 

Yes. But it had been ironic, then. Now, when he said it, warmth flooded it, as though it was a totally different word. 

Vorpal sat up, sending gold and silver streaming down the side of the mound. No, she could not stay up here any longer. Lazy wyrm though she was, she could not bear to be so far away from this gorgeous creature who was smiling shyly now, his heart touched by her praise. 

She came over to him, her heart racing, and reached out a single, taloned claw. 

“Come,” she said. 

The prince, blinking, hesitantly reached out for her. The slender fingers of one hand hesitated, then curled about a single talon – it was all they could encompass. Vorpal could feel the warmth of him, the soft firmness of his grasp. His hand was so beautiful, so tiny against her claw.

His eyes looked up at her, questioning, his face and neck flushed. Oh, he was nervous. Was he afraid of her still? Did he think her capable of harming him, after the moment they had just shared?

But no. He was afraid as a virgin was, afraid of a different violence.

Vorpal felt her own face heat. 

“Let us eat and drink together,” she said. “You must be hungry after your long day. And I asked for entertainment as payment for our meal and was gauche to demand it in advance.”

The boy nodded. 

Two couches flanked the table, one human-sized, the other far larger. The prince mounted the smaller, his eyes glittering with amusement. Vorpal, sensitive to his every movement, wondered what had tickled him but then she knew. Ah, but her own couch! Unlike the one the prince was already arranging himself upon, it was no true dining-couch. No, it was a day-bed, it was true. She had decided to use it so that she could join him at his meal and had not even noticed the ridiculousness of the size difference.

Self-consciously, Vorpal mounted her seat. She felt the stirrings of anger, at herself for making herself a figure of ridicule, at the boy for finding her ridiculous. But when she looked to him and found his eyes meeting hers, she knew she had misread the situation. He was amused, it was true, but there was no hint of mockery there. No, there was warmth dancing in his eyes, the reflection of summer sun in the blue ocean of his bashful glance.

Vorpal found herself smiling back. She knew she must seem simple to him, but right then it did not matter.

“I asked Dovedale to bring things which would be especially pleasing to humans,” she said. “And… well, how should I put it? Unconfrontational?”

Naveen nodded. The array of food laid out before him would have led him to salivate even if he hadn't been ravenously hungry.

“Try the sugar cakes,” she said. “When I feel predisposed to eat, they are my favourite.”

She indicated with the nod of her head the small pile of delicate pink cakes covered with what appeared to be powdered sugar. They seemed little different from the cakes he had often enjoyed at home. He hesitated for a moment, but at Vorpal's prompting he took one. No, the cake was not poison. If she wished to do him harm, a single sweep of her tail or claw would end his life.

He brought the cake to his lips, bit deeply through the thin glazing, tasking the sweetness of the sugar and the creaminess of the fluffy interior.

He drew it away regretfully from his lips, chewed the melting sweet, and finally swallowed. 

“It's delicious,” he muttered. “Absolutely delicious!”

Vorpal grinned, pleased. She took a cake for herself and brought it to her lips, watching as the prince attacked his own with a second bite. 

Naveen's senses reeled at the intensity of the flavour. Oh, but this was Wonderland food, wasn't it? He let the sugary morsel melt in his mouth as he glanced across the table at the jabberwock. She was devouring her own cake with a daintiness which surprised him. It was no affectation, he knew, but her normal way of eating, holding the cake between two talons of one claw, taking small bites, like any of the aristocratic ladies he dined with would be expected to. Of course, the ladies he had known had not possessed tentacles which licked their lips with every bite, enjoying the indirect savour. But the sight did not surprise him any more. 

She caught him looking at her and he turned away, flushing, and grabbed another cake. His eyes fell onto the cask as he chewed.

Vorpal finished her cake with a final bite and chuckled. “Ah, you've read my mind. A drink would be most welcome. I've never been much a fan of tea, so I asked Dovedale to bring us some ale. It's a fine brew, one I drink often.”

The prince looked to her and she inclined her head to the two tankards on top of the cask. “Please, if you would be so kind as to pull me a draught as well?”

The boy swallowed and nodded. He took the tankard closer to him in both hands and Vorpal realised then how huge it was. 

“My apologies,” she said, stifling a laugh. “I only have tankards I use myself. Please don't feel obliged to meet me drink for drink. But I do insist you drink!”

“I know how to drink,” said the prince, without heat. But Vorpal could sense the masculine defensiveness in his words and his boyish need to save face charmed her.

“Then you know how to pull a draught without too much head.”

He nodded. His tongue slipped out as he pulled the tap and the refreshing smell of yeast and hops rose with the thin misting of the liquor. Foam spilled over the edge of the tankard and the prince yelped.

Vorpal took it from him. “No matter,” she said. “It'd good luck for the first drop to be given to the table, after all.”

He poured his own, and this time he did not let it overflow.

Vorpal lifted her drink. “A toast perhaps?”

The prince, hefting his own tankard two-handed, blinked at her. “A toast?”

“I know it is traditional amongst humans,” she said. “I insist on you offering one.”

The prince stared into his drink. “My mother always toasts to good-order and common-sense,” he said. “Whenever she had to drink at a gathering. She's never liked liquor, but she'd never dream of breaking tradition.”

Vorpal lifted an eyebrow. “To good order, then?”

The prince shook his head. “No,” he said. And then he lifted his tankard. “To happiness.”

Vorpal caught the glimmer in his eye. “To happiness,” she repeated, and brought her tankard against his, taking him by surprise. The foam splashed onto his hands and he gasped, but Vorpal put a finger to her lips and flicked her eyes at the two drinks. He understood and together they drank.

He'd already pulled his drink away and swallowed while Vorpal drained hers to the bottom. “Ah!” she gasped, pulling the tankard, now empty but for foam, from her lips and thumping it down on the table.

“Delicious,” said the prince.

Vorpal laughed. “Delicious? Now, you really need to learn to drink like a man! A sip won't do it. Have a real draught, so you can taste it!”

Naveen did as she told him. This time he tasted far less of the bitter foam and more of the golden sweetness of the beer itself. But as he drank, the tankard proved too heavy for him and he found his mouth overflowing with the liquid. He pulled it away, coughing, as a good splash of it ended up on the table.

Vorpal snorted in mock-annoyance, but her eyes glittered with her true amusement. “It's only the first drops which are lucky,” she said. “But you did very well.”

Naveen prickled at the condescension in her voice and was about to retort, when he noticed the foam moustache on his upper lip. He licked it away, mortified, but then he laughed.

“My mother never approved of me drinking alcoholic drinks,” he said. 

Vorpal glanced over the cusp of her tankard as she finished the dregs of her drink. “Was there anything your mother approved of?”

The prince smiled ruefully and shrugged. “No. Not really.”

Vorpal felt the coolness of the liquor shifting to heat in her blood. The sight of that pink tongue slipping over his full lips had sent a thrill through her. Stupid! But what was the harm in it? He was a beautiful young man. Of course the sight of him would kindle such feelings in her. She was a woman, after all. She leaned over the table to refill her tankard from the keg. She should have had the prince do it, but she wished to move closer to him. The scent of him, freshly washed and warm, was tantalising. She took her time refreshing her drink, letting the foam settle.

“So you've never –” She turned her head, but the prince straight-away looked away from her. Oh, of course. Her boobs. At this angle, her could see right down her cleavage. She knew he'd been looking. That flush on his cheeks and neck was not from the liquor, which he had but barely tasted. She hastily filled the rest of her tankard and sat back. 

“I've never...?” His words hung in the air, questioning. Clearly he wanted to seem focussed on the conversation rather than her body.

“Well, been in a situation like this.”

He smiled at her. “You mean held for ransom?” 

“No,” said Vorpal. She chuckled. The alcohol had loosened his tongue and he was being uncharacteristically cheeky with her. Ah, no. Perhaps he had just grown more used to her. She felt her breath, hot, against her lips. The thought excited her. You pathetic wyrm! To have such a simple thought make you sticky!

“No,” said Vorpal. “I meant… I meant to be in a social situation with a woman.”

The prince took another drink. He was clearly getting used to the bitterness now. “Oh. No, well. I've been in… uh, social situations with women many times.”

“Oh,” said Vorpal. “But never one-on-one, I should think.”

The prince shook his head. “No, often. My mother… uh, introduced me to many ladies. We often had tea together.” 

His voice was soft and Vorpal sighed. “Really, you should speak up. You're rather hard to hear, you know.”

The prince blinked at her. “Uh, well, what I was saying –”

Vorpal sat up. “It's no use shouting. Come here.” She patted the couch beside her. 

The prince's eyes went wide. “What, really?”

Vorpal rolled her eyes. “Yes, really. I've already almost finished my second drink and I don't really wish to lean across the table and fill my own tankard again. It'll be far easier if you're beside me. Anyway, I'll be able to hear you easier. You do mumble, somewhat.”

The prince held his drink, unsure, until Vorpal patted the couch again. He slowly got up, grabbed the table to steady himself.

Ah, so the awkwardness of sharing her couch was less than that of trying to argue himself out of her request. Good. 

“Come on,” she said. “I don't bite. My tentacles don't either, although they do sometimes have thoughts of their own.”

The prince glanced at them, alarmed, but Vorpal just chuckled. “I'm joking. They're as much me as my legs or my wings. Come now.”

The prince say down at the edge of the couch. Vorpal sighed. 

“Well, that shall have to do, then.” She quickly downed the rest of her drink and handed him the tankard. “If you would be so kind…”

Naveen took it and was careful to not pour so much head on the drink this second time. He was happy to have something to focus on, to distract him from the sudden closeness of the jabberwock. Before, when she'd been asleep and he had approached her, it had been different. Those striking amber eyes had been closed, the full lips pursed, her impressive body far less confronting when at rest. Now, however, he felt every shift of her body on the couch, felt the weight of her beside him, the heat of her body, the smell of it – a gorgeous scent, of her own fragrance mixed with the gentle sweetness of the make-up she had applied. His heart was beating hard as he handed her the tankard. She shifted closer to him to take it. Her talons closed around it and she flashed a particularly bright smile at him. 

“Well done. It seems you've become an expert at drawing ale as well.” 

He blushed and leaned across the table to get his own drink. Vorpal beat him to it, grabbing the tankard and sliding it across to him, making sure that she brushed his side with her chest as she did so. She grinned at him again.

He drew the tankard up and had another drink. 

“So,” said Vorpal. “You still haven't answered my question.”

“Your question?”

“About tea. With those lovely ladies your mother tried to set you up with.”

The prince laughed. “Lovely? No, not lovely.”

“So, ugly?”

“Oh no,” said the prince quickly. “Well, I mean, I would never call anyone ugly. But it was the way they… uh, acted towards me. Like I was just a...”

“A treasure?” said Vorpal.

The prince startled at the word, but then he nodded. “Yes. That's exactly it. A thing they could collect. I mean, if they married me, they would take my name and with it the prestige of my family.”

“Is that such a bad thing?” asked Vorpal. “To be considered precious?”

“I only want someone who likes me for who I am,” he said. “Not my name.”

“Well, I like you,” said Vorpal. “And your name means nothing to a creature of Wonderland.”

She took another deep drink, but stopped mid-draught when she noticed the prince had stopped talking. She looked at him. He was staring at her.

“What?” she asked. “Do I have foam on my lips this time?” She licked them.

“Uh, no,” said the prince. “It's just what you said. That you like me.”

Vorpal blinked. “Well, what's not to like?” she said. “Beautiful, talented, can pull ale well? You're a fine catch, name or no name.” Her heart began to race. Oh gods, she'd gone and said it, hadn't she? But her dismissive answers seem to mollify the prince and he went back to focussing on drinking from his tankard without spilling anything.

Well, she'd told the truth, hadn't she? She did like him, and not just as a treasure. He was not her treasure, of course. At any moment, Dovedale could reappear and collect him for the Queen of Hearts. She would never see him again. Well, not like this, anyway. He would be an incubus, the Queen's incubus.

The thought horrified her. She threw the rest of her drink down and filled another. The prince watched her, no doubt surprised she hadn't asked him to draw the ale for her. 

Her heart was throbbing. Oh, she was getting drunk. But she felt like being drunk. She took another long draught. 

She glanced across at him, sitting there, legs closed together as he drank, like any well-bred young princess taught to keep her knees together at all times. He had beautiful legs, it was true, and in the trousers she had looted for him, they were slim and muscular.

She reached across and placed a claw on his thigh. He had gorgeous thighs, that slender but masculine shapeliness that young boys have, so different from her own thick thighs. She had longed to touch them, and now the thought they might be taken away from her at any moment filled her with a desperate courage. 

She gave his thigh a squeeze. The prince jumped, spilling ale down his front. 

“Oh no,” cried Vorpal. “You've spilled your drink.” 

The prince stood up, horrified, staring down at the sodden front of his white shirt, still holding the dripping tankard in his hand. 

“Oh, come here,” she said. He really was at a loss. She took the tankard from him and set it down on the table, absent-mindedly licking the excess foam that stuck to her claw. She leaned across and began to unbutton his collar. The prince's eyes went wide.

“What... what are you doing?”

Vorpal sighed and rolled her eyes. “What does it look like I'm doing? You need to get out of this wet shirt and dry yourself.” 

“Uh–“ Naveen was about to say something about how he could do it himself, but his shirt was already half unbuttoned. The jabberwock's claws, for all their vicious appearance, were agile. 

“Don't squirm,” she said. “I like my ale cold. You must be freezing.”

Vorpal leaned closer, as though trying to concentrate on the task at hand, but the truth was she could not take her eyes from his chest. His nipples were hard beneath the translucent material sticking to his skin. Yes, this was the chest of a male – how had she ever mistaken him for a girl? – but then it was delightfully smooth and surprisingly hairless, the chest of a boy in many ways. 

The last button came loose and she let her claws lazily slip under the edge of both sides of the shirt. The boy was still staring. Let him stare! Like she was going to let his sit there and freeze. His mother wasn't here to take care of him, so she would do it.

Wait. Her thoughts we muzzy and she felt her heart pumping in her chest. She was much drunker than she realised. She shouldn't be doing this. This was dangerous.

But the smooth coolness of his skin against the back of her claws would not let her stop. She slid both sides of the shirt open, peeling it from his skin. He just watched her, wide-eyed. Those hard nipples appeared, hindering the removal of the shirt for a single heartbeat before she flung both halves of the shirt open.

Vorpal, in a daze, stood up. A surge of dizziness gripped her, but she fought it and carefully negotiated herself behind the boy-prince. He turned to look back at her, but she leaned close, not letting him. 

“Lift your arms,” she said. 

With a moment's hesitation, he did as she asked. She slipped one side of the shirt off his arm, and then turned her attention to the other. She leaned even closer, the ale clouding her thoughts, setting her blood on fire. The pale expanse of his back was maddening and she pressed her chest against it, as though to steady herself. Well, she did need some steadying, it was true. The ale had gone completely to her head. She brought her lips close to the nape of his neck, left them hovering there.

“There,” she breathed. “Isn't that better?”

Naveen closed his eyes. He could feel Vorpal's breasts pressing against his back, the hot ale-sweet breath rhythmic on the skin of his neck. Her scent! Her fragrance was everywhere. He remembered then what others had said about jabberwocks, about their breath which could make a human lose control, which breathed lewdness and desire like fire into their bodies. 

He was hard between the legs, it was true... but hadn't that happened long before, even before she'd touched his thigh? The gentle way she had spoken to him, her eager eyes, her voluptuous body, the heat in her every word. Everything about her had urged the reaction in his body and now... and now she was pressed against him, almost embracing him from behind like a lover would, like that old woman from Polove had – but where her arms and chest had been thin and bony, the cloying smell of her like flowers left too long on a grave, the jabberwock was warm and soft, her fragrance spicy-sweet. He shivered, not from the cold, although he was cold, and lay his head back. 

Bare skin brushed Vorpal's lips when he did so. She gasped, pleasure striking her, melting her marrow. No. No, this was too much. He was offering her his neck to be kissed. 

A kiss. A kiss would not be too much, surely? She was owed something, some exquisite little delight to remind her of the treasure she had held but for a short while.

“Please,” she murmured, so soft she doubted whether the prince had even heard it, spoken though it had been so close to his ear. Were the words for herself, for the boy? Or for the Queen of Hearts herself, a plea that.... 

She pushed away the fingers of despair that attempted to touch her, breathed deep instead of the scent coming from his body, that clean masculine scent. She melted right down to the marrow and parted her lips, the tip of her tongue darting out, fast so that she should not think twice and stop herself when she realised the danger of what she was doing.

Firm smoothness, hotter even still than her tongue itself, and his flavour – a flavour linked in some mysterious way to the scent that was dissolving her brain away. She pressed her lips with it – a kiss rather than a lick. No harm in a kiss? No harm...

Naveen gasped. Ah! What was she doing? So... so this was a lover's kiss. Not for the cheeks or the forehead or even the lips, a kiss against his skin, a kiss bringing with it the fiery moisture of her tongue. 

Please, she had said. He wanted to echo that please, but he feared her derisive laughter, feared this was all some game. But her words... her words before had been so gentle. 

The pressure of her lips returned, and then another time, and with it came the little dart of hot wetness. 

He sighed, and leaned forward, baring more of his neck.

Vorpal's heart raced. No, a single kiss had not been enough. A single taste of him had not been enough. She knew now that she would not stop. Her heart danced in her chest, her blood surging. She squeezed her thighs together. No, she could not stop now – she would not stop! The thought of being alone, of leaving him untouched on his own couch, watching from her high and lonely hoard, untouched herself, left tight and itchy and wanting...

She heard his gasp, heard his low sigh. He was opening himself to her kisses, wanted more. But no more kisses. No, it was simply too...

Vorpal brought her lips to the softness underneath his ear, the kiss turning into a hesitant lick. He shivered. She licked again. Yes, licking was better. 

Her tongue danced across the tender maze of his ear, then, and the prince could no longer keep his voice restrained. He cried out, a little cry, as her tongue dipped into his ear.

There was no more pretence now. Vorpal slipped her arms around his neck, hugged him to her as she kissed and lick his ear, the back of his neck. Her claws – so gentle! – slid down onto his nipple, cupped his chest and squeezed.

It was Vorpal's turn to sigh. Oh, the smooth fullness of his chest! Why, why had she taken so long to finally touch this beautiful creature? He did not move away – his gentle gasps, the panting of his open mouth as she caressed his neck with eager lips. He wanted this as much as she did. 

“My beautiful prince,” she murmured. “I'm sorry.”

The ale surged up her spine to the back of her head, bubbling through her brain. Every part of her was hot, so hot! Since when had ale brought on such wildness? Maybe Dovedale was right... maybe she was a lewd lizard at heart, her lust kept crushed down because she was afraid. 

She'd laughed, but beneath the laughter she had bridled at the Cheshire Cat's words. Her? Afraid? She feared nothing. 

No, no... it had not been true. The words had angered her, because there was truth in them. She was afraid. Afraid she would be hurt. 

Dovedale... that wily Cat. She had not seen her for many days. Not since she had come with the ale and told her that the Queen would be a while longer before she....

Before the Queen...

Vorpal, heart racing, felt the cold stab of ice in her heart. No. The ale had not melted it away after all. It had merely clouded her mind, made her forget. But now the cold truth of the matter tore that veil of hope and lust away. 

No.

The ale. The ale Dovedale had brought her. Her gift.

Her claws, still full of the prince's delightful flesh, fell slack. Her lips froze mid-kiss and she pulled away. The prince, panting, turned in confusion, his eyes still hooded with pleasure.

“Wh– what's the matter?” 

All the fear and despair the ale had swallowed up rushed back, a flood that sickened her. She wheeled away. That Cat! The ale... it was not just the tea and the cakes of Wonderland which often were filled with a virtue that clouded the mind and fired the blood. 

Fear turned to anger. She lashed out with her claw, no longer a gentle clasping hand but a vicious talon, the weapon of a dragon which could slash through stone and iron. And now it smashed aside the keg of ale, parting the boards of the barrel and sending a foaming flood of gold and white across the table.

The prince leaped from his seat, still half-naked, his beautiful chest heaving in his shock. “Vorpal?!”

Her name. The first time she had heard it pass his lips. Oh, if only she had been able to hear her name spoken again, gasped out in the heights of his delight as they lay together! But no... no, that was not allowed to her. His cries would be heard by another, by the tyrant who would mould his body and his spirit to her.

The cruel truth of it sent her mind spinning. Dovedale... why? Why did you try to...?

Ah, but the politics of Wonderland were labyrinthine. Dovedale, for all her frivolity and her whimsy, was a creature of Wonderland. Like many, she wanted more than she had, wished to curry favour with the Queen of Hearts. But Vorpal was not going to stand in her way... yet for one driven by a secret lust for power, surely everyone was an obstacle? And so, when Vorpal had been honoured with the task of acquiring the Queen's latest treasure, no doubt the Cat had bridled at the injustice in secret. Shouldn't she have been honoured with the task herself? Why give it to that failed jabberwock, that sad, repressed spinster who spent her days in her lair, fantasising of all the things she was too fearful to do? And so Dovedale had hid her resentment, and all the while she had readied a most delicious revenge...

The Prince was still staring at her. His eyes, his beautiful blue eyes, were wide with fear and confusion and Vorpal remembered that moment so many days ago, when her anger had flared forth and she had overturned the table, torn and scattered the books.

“Vorpal? What's the–“

“Be quiet,” she hissed. Equal parts rage and despair coursed through her – rage at her own weakness, at Dovedale's betrayal, despair of what could never be, of the beautiful moment of happiness so suddenly torn from her. Her tentacles whipped and coursed high in the air, the part of her body which always reacted strongest to her emotions. Her wings splayed out, dark and wide, and she rose to her full height. 

Naveen fought back his rising terror. What had happened to her? From such gentle sweetness to such seething rage in a heartbeat! He thought he had come to understand her heart, thought he had finally felt her true warmth. That touch, those gentle claws and the soft kisses she had peppered across his skin – they had not belonged to the hunger of a predator, had not been the cynical trick of a being driven only by lust. He had felt that sort of touch before, knew it well, from those awful old women. Vorpal had been different. 

But Vorpal was a monster, after all. Not a human. Who knew what strange and alien thoughts lurked behind those yellow eyes? 

But no. No. That Vorpal he had seen, the one who had laughed and chatted so gaily and who had sat there, entranced by his playing – that was no illusion, no trick. He was sure of it. He was a virgin, it was true, but he had learned much about women, about the way they thought and acted. Vorpal was a jabberwock, but also a woman.

He stood up. Vorpal stared at him, her eyes flicking wildly across his face. He stepped away from the table and she stepped back. Did... did she fear him? 

He came around the table, slowly, like one approaching a wild beast. She did not take another step back again but watched him, her eyes never leaving his. He stopped at arm's length from her and her lips parted. A sigh? No, the exhalation of breath. She had been holding her breath the whole time. 

“Vorpal. Please. I just want to– ”

He reached out for her and the jabberwock in terror slapped his hand away.

“No!” she cried. “Don't touch me!”

The blow had no doubt been meant to be little more than bat, to stop him from touching her – but her strength sent him spinning with a cry against the mound of her treasure. With a shimmering shower of tinkling coins he collapsed, gasping, clutching his stinging hand to his bare chest.

Vorpal looked at him in horror. She lifted a trembling claw, the one she had struck him with, hating it, hating what she had done. Everything she had done. The prince lay there, hurt and terror in his eyes, slumped against her treasure mound.

Her treasure. Her treasure.

She turned and fled, not wanting him to see the hot tears that had sprung from her eyes, not wanting him to hear the sobs forcing their way up her throat. She stumbled to the cave-entrance, letting the tears now he couldn't see them pour out freely to cover her eyes with a stinging veil. She grabbed the great stone door and rolled it, finding it a struggle for the first time. Gods, this pain in her heart, this despair weakened her physically as well. What a curse it was! A disgusting curse.

She pushed the rock one final time in frustration, let it roll shut the final few feet. She was already in the air, her great dark wings beating hard, taking her away from her pain. But no – she knew she would never be free of this pain. For the first time in her life, she had let her guard down, and now...

She flew high, until the ground became a patchwork canvas of colours. Wonderland. She looked to the horizon. The Queen of Hearts' castle with its exquisite mass of delicate towers, decorated with silver and gold filigree, topped with gaily coloured flags which flicked the air. A fortress, though, for all its childlike beauty – just like the Queen herself.

Vorpal flew. She flew until the tears stopped, until the sharp wound in her heart dulled into a heavy ache. A long time had passed. The air was cold, now that she noticed it, the sky's cerulean blue becoming the darker amethyst of oncoming night. The sun lay on the horizon, just behind the Queen's castle, silhouetting it, stripping it of the childish fairytale details, revealing the stark shape of the fortress hidden beneath. 

She knew she must return. The Queen would want her treasure. If she did not get it, Vorpal would suffer a fate worse than just a broken heart. This ache in her chest would diminish even further in time. But to suffer the anger of the child-queen! Vorpal shivered, and not in the cold of the evening air. 

She returned to her lair. This time the rock moved more freely in her hands. Some of her strength had returned and she felt a sharp surge of hope. 

The inside of her lair was dark and her hope was swallowed up by a sudden panic. Something was wrong. The torches should have flickered on for him, their magic detecting his movement.

No, no you stupid wyrm. He's merely retreated to his bed, thrown himself under the covers – that is all. He hasn't done anything more foolish than that.

And yet – and yet there were many weapons in her home.

Vorpal raced inside, crying his name and waving her hands at the torches which blazed into magical light. 

Her treasure-mound glittered to one side. The shattered remains of the keg sat sticky and glistening, half on the table, half on the floor. Vorpal's foot encountered the stickiness and she pulled it away. 

There, on the floor – footprints. But not leading deeper into her lair, to the treasure room. The toes were facing her, leading back to the front of the cave. 

With a gasp she turned back. In the soft sand just outside the cave – boot-prints pressed into them leading from the far edge of the rock.

No. The rock had not completed its roll after all. A tiny crack had been left – of no account to a jabberwock, but large enough, just large enough for a slender and desperate human to squeeze himself through. To escape. 

Vorpal, shaking, left the accursed rock where it was and took to the air. 

\--------------------

Naveen ran. He didn't know which was he was going, didn't care – he only wanted to be as far away from that jabberwock as possible. His hand still smarted from the slap – but far worse was the pain in his heart. Luckily, his running, now near the point of exhaustion, sent jets of sharp pain through his chest and the duller pain, that pain he couldn't run from, was almost masked by it.

At last he could go now further. Gasping, he slumped against the smooth bark of a tree on the side of the path, drew great thirsty jagged breaths. The pain of breathing lessened, but that other pain sprang back to the forefront of his mind.

What had caused that sudden, shocking change in Vorpal? Had he said something? But no... she had been embracing him, kissing his neck and ear, murmuring sweet words to him. He'd been able to say nothing in response, do nothing except shiver and gasp with a long-awaited pleasure. Those plump breasts pressed against his back, her maddening scent, sweetened by the perfume she had put on – perfume for him. Or so he had thought. The closeness which had grown between them had been an illusion. He'd been foolish to read anything from it. She was a jabberwock, a monster of Wonderland. 

And yet, more than any human female he had ever met before, she had touched his heart. Her haughty pride, her bristly outer behaviour had hidden a sweet and gentle woman. It was her cruelty which had been a show. 

Gentle? He pushed his hand against his chest to dull the pain of both. 

And then she had fled. And now he was wandering the forest, looking for the way back to the human world. Back home.

No. No, he wasn't. He knew that now. He hadn't cared to follow any particular path. He hadn't even tried to discern which way the human-world might be. And his eyes had often turned upwards, searching the patches of darkening sky for any sign of her.

His eyes searched the sky now as well. Where had she gone? She would have to return sooner or later. But the sky showed no sign of those dark wings, that powerful and beautiful body which had been pressed against him, and which he wanted, more than anything, to be pressed against him again.

Strange thoughts for someone who had been treated so cruelly, he thought. But then.. but then he had fallen in love with her, hadn't he?

The truth of it all came to him in an avalanche of feeling. The past few days with her had been a tumult of fear and delight. But for the first time, he had been with a woman who he felt had liked him for who he was, perhaps even loved him. 

He knew then that he would return to her. He had run in one direction, followed the path always to the left. He could merely retrace his steps to find her home. 

He swept the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, drew in a deep chestful of air and turned and ran straight into the decidedly female chest of someone who had been standing silently behind him. 

They gasped and for a moment he thought it was Vorpal. She swept her arms around his neck and pulled him to her, squashing his face against her huge breasts so that he couldn't see. But her scent. It wasn't the scent of Vorpal, that spicy scent he knew so well, now, and loved. No, this was a sweet scent, like cotton-candy. Overwhelmingly sweet. 

Naveen panicked and pushed at the soft, fluffy body crushed against his and its owner gasped again. She loosed her embrace and hopped back – a dainty little hop. 

Free of her sickly sweet embrace at last, the prince saw she was pink. So pink! Long floppy pink ears and a wide, childish face framed by hair in a short pink bob, considering him with a mixture of surprise and delight. She hopped forward again – her legs were a mass of pink fur, like the cotton candy Naveen had eaten once at a commoner's festival a long, long time ago – and she grabbed hold of his hands as he stood there in a daze.

“Oh, you poor thing! Lost in the woods, I take it?” She sighed, the pale rose-touched cleavage gloriously exposed from her bright pink one-piece garment heaving. Her breasts were huge, larger even than the voluptuous jabberwock's, and their movement showed she was wearing no kind of breast-binding – every melodramatic sigh brought them closer to spilling out into full, bare-breasted display. 

Naveen shook his head. His heart was racing, beating fast now in fear. He knew that any creature of Wonderland, no matter how harmless and friendly it seemed, was a threat. Even this nymphish bunny-girl. He moved to pull his hands from hers, but she didn't let go.

“Oh no, you're afraid?” The dark eyes blinked and tears formed at the edges of the dark, luxurious lashes. “A monster has been chasing you, no doubt, and frightened you so badly that even your big sister Velveteen scares you? Oh my!” She pulled the prince back to her and hugged him, his face disappearing between her massive breasts again. “Tell your big sister who it was. It was a Jubjub, wasn't it? Or maybe a naughty Cheshire Cat?”

The prince gasped against the powdered and sweetly scented flesh. “Vorpal,” he gasped. “I'm... I'm looking for Vorpal, the jabberwock.”

“A jabberwock!” Velveteen gasped. “Oh, no wonder you're scared and came looking for me. Jabberwock's are scary, aren't they? Especially that bad-tempered one that lives not far from here – Vorpal, I think her name is.” The prince struggled and the hare giggled. “Oh, now, now! You're hugging me so close! I think maybe that nasty jabberwock is just an excuse? You want to cuddle me, don't you? Well, feel free, you beautiful boy. Here!”

She reached down, took his hands and lifted them straight onto the jiggling mass of her chest. Grinning, she slid his hands down into her top and the material slipped down, releasing the twin mountains straight into his hands. 

“Oh! Your touch... you're so eager!”

Her breasts were over-abundant, even larger exposed, her nipples large and pink and already hard as rocks against the prince's hands. He tried to pull away but Velveteen was already on top of him.

“You naughty boy,” she muttered. “Hunting around the forest for me. Did you hear there was a sexy hare who lived around here? One that loves naughty boys like you?”

Naveen struggled. “No, I... like I told you. I'm... I'm the jabberwock's boyfriend.”

A delighted laugh passed the march-hare's lips. “Oh, what a fib! Everyone knows that jabberwock doesn't like men... or girls, either. A most strange creature.”

“Please let me go! I have to...”

“Let you go and take off our clothes? You have to mount me?” A low purr rumbled through Velveteen's throat and the pink rose on her cheeks deepened to red. “So forward! Please, allow your big sister to–”

The fluffy weight of the march hare, her heavy breasts like a ram, overwhelmed Naveen and drove him backwards onto the grassy verge. His breath was knocked from his chest, but as he gasped the hare's face was against his, her tongue, hot, thick, pushing its way into his mouth. He struggled, but Velveteen's weight was inexorable, her hands everywhere at once as they tore at his shirt.

“Oh, you naughty boy,” she murmured. “You naughty, naughty boy!”

The prince, gasping down air in those desperate moments, had no further chance to protest, and Velveteen's powerful mass of fluff-covered thighs pinned his to the ground. She rubbed her chest up against his now half-bare one, the hard points of her nipples scoring across his skin as she humped the hot centre of her femininity against his crotch. 

“You're so hard!” Velveteen breathed. 

It was true and hot shame poured through Naveen. His body, crushed underneath such a weight of rampant femininity, had betrayed him. He renewed his struggle, even more desperate now, but Velveteen kept pushing him down, her peach-shaped butt with its twitching fluffy tail lifting up and down madly as she humped him.

At last she pulled her mouth away from his bruised lips. “I can't wait any longer!” she cried. She lifted her lower half up, her tail high in the air, and with a swift sweep of her hand she tore aside the crotch of her garment. Her sex was pink and swollen and her fingers dove inside for a moment, making her tremble and arch her back. 

The prince, seeing his chance, rolled aside and scrambled up onto his hands and knees. He managed a half-crawl before Velveteen's free hand grasped the waistband of his trousers and pulled.

His underwear came with it and he felt a surge of coolness as his bottom was exposed. Another hungry hand grabbed the other side of his waist and Velveteen's slobbering mouth dove between his buttocks. 

He slumped forward. There was no way to escape. She was too strong for him. She would turn him over, leap upon him and slide on top of him. He wouldn't be able to resist her. He didn't want her, didn't want for her to be the first time he lay with a woman. No, not like this! Not this hurried, frenzied attack . But he knew he would not be able to stop himself from coming inside her – the rampant, ravaging hare would not let him go until she had drained him of every drop of sexual energy. 

“Vorpal,” he murmured. “Vorpal, I'm sorry...”

The licking tongue wrenched away from him and Velveteen squealed. The prince squirmed forward and rolled over as he did. 

“Vorpal!”

The jabberwock was there, her wings unfurled to their full extent, her face a rictus of rage. She was holding Velveteen by her fluffy tail and the hare kicked and struggled, her dangling bare boobs swinging wildly as she tried to escape.

“Let me go, let me go!” she yelled. “He's mine! I found him! You have no right!”

Vorpal pulled Velveteen's face close to hers and the march hare's fierce and insulted expression was straight away replaced with wide-eyed fear.

“He's not yours,” Vorpal hissed. “He's mine. Now get out of here!” 

She tossed Velveteen away and the hare, breasts and swollen pink crotch bare, was hopping as soon as her feet touched the ground. 

“You mean old jabberwock!” she shouted back. “You'll regret this!” And then she vanished, sobbing, into the undergrowth.

Vorpal paid her no more mind. She hurried over to where the Naveen lay, struggling to pull up his pants. She helped him to his feet before he could and despite his protests she pulled him against her. 

“I'm sorry,” Vorpal cried. “I'm sorry I struck you, my prince.”

No words passed Naveen's lips, just a ragged sob as he threw his arms around her.

“Vorpal!” he gasped. “Vorpal, you came for me!”

“Yes,” said Vorpal.

“You said... you said I was yours.”

Vorpal blinked. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, I did say that.”

She had meant it, too. But she did not say it. She embraced him back, crushing him to her, her treasure. No one would steal him from her arms again. 

Naveen looked up at her and the fragile, joyful smile on the jabberwock's face told him everything he wanted to know. 

He buried his face in her ample chest. “I am yours, Vorpal,” he said simply. 

The prince clung to her and she stroked his hair. Yes, yes – he was her prince. Not the Queen of Hearts. She could not have him. 

Vorpal's heart, deep in her chest, was racing, and to Naveen's ear, pressed against the warm smoothness of her bust, the sound of her heartbeat was like the beating of a drum. Ah, but she had fought for him, and her heart still raced. 

But Vorpal's heart ran fast for another reason. The prince, joyful at their reunion, had forgotten that his pants still lay on the grass where the march hare had tossed them. But Vorpal had not forgotten – for the boy's member, hard as iron, was pressing against her and it was that, along with the youthful, manly fragrance of the boy which she had so missed that sent her blood rushing so fast that her mind reeled.

A taloned-claw slipped over the delightful curve of his buttocks, covering the whole slender pair in a single palm, and she drew him closer still. Her other claw cradled his chin and leaning down she brought her lips to his.

A kiss – not Naveen's first, but the first which meant anything to him. His heart surged, and with it the passion coursing through his veins. He met her questing tongue with his own – far smaller and less agile than the jabberwock's large, hot tongue, but when he touched hers she gasped and shivered and her tongue fled away.

No... no, these sensations. These were too much for her. Never had her body been filled with such an overpowering desire! The half-naked prince and his shy tongue were conquering her – she, a jabberwock, never before defeated in battle. But her proud heart wanted to be conquered by this shy, delicious youth, warm and supple in her arms. 

The proud heart of the child of dragons! She smiled ruefully against his kissing mouth. No, a lewd wyrm, just as Dovedale had always teased her.

She pushed the thought of the cat away. Her trick had backfired. They boy was hers, now, like it or not. And she was his.

Vorpal broke the kiss, left the prince gasping. His eyes glistened in disappointment but her sultry gaze soon dispelled the thought that she wanted things to end. No– she was merely getting started. And her shivering heart wanted to spoil the boy, to spoil herself by finally giving into the lewdness surging through her, from the tip of her horns to the end of her whipping tail.

That delicious hardness! She wanted it, now, inside her, to envelope it and possess it – but to push the boy down and mount him was a hare's trick. No, but there were other ways....

She knelt down, her claws grasping the boys waist and she drew her mouth and tongue across the pale white smoothness of his lower abdomen, just below the hem of his torn shirt. The scent of his excitement emboldened her and she dallied only a short time at delighting in the softness of his skin beneath her lips and tongue.

The prince gasped, his knees shivering beneath him and he might have stumbled had not Vorpal been holding him around the waist. She drew away, still wishing to taste the saltiness of his skin and drink deep the scent of his excitement – but she wanted it all, right now, from the very well-spring of the sexual energy radiating from him. 

Her eyes fell lazily to his hardness, bobbing there as he steadied himself as she pulled away. Ah, the source of that delicious scent! Vorpal could tease herself no longer and she dove upon him, sliding his length past her lips.

An exquisite flavour, the clean, salty richness of his masculine juices, brought a moan deep in her throat – a moan echoed from the prince above her. Her tongue slipped over the slick head, basting it, removing every drop of his essence... and with a gasp more flowed forth, a spurt that coated her hungry tongue. 

Murmuring in delight Vorpal drew more of him into her hungry mouth. She soon learned what he liked and that first surge of flavour was quickly followed by more. She had thought that first might have been the last, that his virgin body had overreacted and come to completion already – but the boy still bubbled with sexual energy. If anything, her ministrations made him glow brighter. 

Naveen looked down at the beautiful face of the jabberwock, eyes closed, the dark lashes pressed against her pink cheeks, the slickness of her red lips, the sweat glistening on her brow. Moaning, he rested his hands on her head, stroking her hair, exploring the soft velvet of her horns. So strange! And yet... and yet, she was so beautiful, and her she was... kneeling before him, ministering to him with her beautiful skilled mouth and tongue. 

The boy's hips moved, eager for his length to be drawn deeper into her mouth, and Vorpal gasped around his erection. Ah, so this is what Dovedale and the others had spoken of, the delight she had denied herself so long – but no. Only with this boy, with this gentle prince, was her lewdness at last born free from her pride. To do this with another male, now – no, it was impossible. 

She bobbed her head, rejoicing in his every moan and cry, the eager pumping of his buttocks. She breathed through her nose, his member filling her as much as she enveloped him, and with every thrust she felt herself melting more and more. She squeezed her thighs together, unwilling to bring a claw down to play with herself and abandon his beautiful behind, but needing release from the rising itchy pleasure that set her chest heaving, her juices darkly staining the crotch of her garment.

The prince gasped and grew suddenly harder in her mouth, the softness against her chin tightening. 

Even though she was a virgin, she knew instinctively what that meant. Vorpal pulled away, letting him fall free of her slick mouth with regret. His erection bobbed dangerously as he stumbled back a step. But he did not reach the summit of his desire. She had stopped just in time!

Another time she would spoil him fully and bring him to a quick and messy completion in her mouth so she could savour every delicious drop of his semen – but she could not allow this today. No, this was their first time together and she would not have him burst anywhere else but deep into her hungry womb. 

Naveen, his hair dishevelled and plastered by the sweat dripping from his brow, stared at Vorpal open-mouthed as she rose. His eyes slid over every inch of her tall, voluptuous body, slipping from her beautiful, lewdly smiling face, the writhing tentacles with their slick mouths mirroring her grin, her shivering wings, furled now at her back. So alien – and yet still so utterly beautiful. His heart surged at the sight of her. So this was love? Love, not just lust, although his body hungered for her. He had almost come in her mouth but he too wanted this all to end with nothing else but making the jabberwock his own.

Vorpal stepped toward him, her eyes playful, as her claws found the ties at the side of her garment. With her body overflowing with desire, it was hard for her to concentrate on untying them but her desperate need found a way. 

With the last thong untied, her top threatened to come free but she caught it with the crook of an arm and pressed it back against her glistening chest. Gods, she was such a tease! But the prince gave no sign of frustration with her playfulness. Indeed, he was smiling at her. He reached up for her and she leaned down and with a delighted sigh kissed him afresh. She drew him closer, letting her garment fall free, and this time it was her bare breasts and her flat, warm stomach which greeted him. 

Naveen's member pressed hard against the jabberwock's thighs and he felt the slick heat there. Released from her garment, the jabberwock's scent was thick and powerful. There was so much of her! And all of her was pressing against him, her huge breasts, exquisitely soft but for the rock-hard points of her nipples, the expanse of her flat stomach. Shyly, his hands slipped down her across her shoulders, down and around her side to find at last those gorgeous wide buttocks he had desired to touch for so long. His fingers brushed the base of her tail and he encountered the firm but smooth scales there. Ah, so that was what they felt like!

But he could not be distracted from his desire and he squeezed first one and then another generous buttock in his hands.

Vorpal closed her eyes and moaned against his mouth. His hands! So agile and gentle with the lyre, and now they explored her body. Those beautiful hands, which her body had ached to feel caressing her. And now, at last, it was happening. She was melting below the waist, her sex hot and hungry and dripping with desire. 

Pleasure surged anew through her body and she felt her knees almost give way. 

She could no longer wait. With her tongue still dipping deliciously into his mouth, Vorpal bore him backwards with all her naked weight. The prince could do nothing but fall back onto the grassy verge on his bare buttocks as Vorpal covered him. She tore her mouth from his bruised lips, leaving him gasping, and arched back as she straddled him. 

A lewd smile flashed onto her face as she looked down at the slender youth lying beneath her. With his sweaty blonde hair tousled, his lips moist with their commingled saliva, his shirt torn, his chest and lower belly bare, the prince looked every bit the picture of a ravished youth.

That mischievous and bullying need, fresh-kindled in Vorpal's heart, took over her now. She had delighted in the gentle loving of their shared kisses and spoiled him with her mouth, but now he would fulfil her needs! And what she needed now more than anything else was for the splendid hardness squashed beneath her thighs to be plunged deep inside her. 

Naveen stared up at Vorpal, hardly believing what filled his sight – the full length of her torso on full display, her large breasts bare and bobbing as she positioned herself upon him, her eyes wide and glowing with her hunger as she bit her lip in concentration. 

He could have gazed upon her forever, but Naveen was a gentleman to his very core and he knew he could not leave her in this state any longer. He placed his hands on her wide hips and with a wiggle of his thighs brought himself against the boiling entrance of her sex. He cried out at the sudden spark of pleasure that arced through him and Vorpal echoed his voice with her own desperate cry. 

He eased himself forward, intending to enter her slowly. That... that was the right thing to do, wasn't it? Especially with a girl who was a virgin.

But Vorpal had other ideas. With a lusty forward roll of her hips she thrust herself onto the prince in a single movement, sending his rigidity plunging right up into her. There was the slightest give as he broke her maidenhead and then he was enveloped in the honey-slick heat of her.

He gasped and Vorpal gasped, too.

“Oh my prince! My prince!” 

He gouged his hands into the thick flesh of her hips as she began to hump him. Every movement sent a flood of delight through his body and he soon could not stop from filling the forest with his lewd cries.

“Vorpal! Vorpal!

The sound of her name, repeated with every eager thrust up into her, brought tears of joy to the jabberwock's eyes. From the first moment his erection had pierced her, ploughed into her virgin sex and opened her up to these amazing feelings, Vorpal had known this was her husband. Yes, this beautiful boy-prince, her husband! Her body adapted to his, instinctively meeting his every eager but inexperienced thrust. The air was filled with a lewd slapping and the thick scent of the juices pouring between them. He still hadn't come, thankfully. A prince – a stallion in such a pale, slender feminine form! 

Sex was all so new to Vorpal, but her body knew what to do. Was this because she was a woman? Or because of the lewd demonic spirit within her? Panting, she lifted her wide hips and ground them back down again and again against the moaning boy's, her tail whipping the air. She knew with her dragon's pride that she was a sight, with her big-boobed, wide-hipped overgenerously curved body towering over the prince's beautiful, slender one, smothering his, her boobs swaying wildly as she humped him. But she no longer cared. The fiery pleasure pumping through her with every thrust of his member deep into her hungry body drove every thought from her – every thought except for the tightness in her chest as she gazed down at him.

Her treasure. Her boy-prince. Her husband!

Vorpal ground herself against him faster. No, she could wait no longer ! His hands gripped her thighs even tighter and a cry burst forth from between the lips she had bruised with her eager kisses. Her own cry met his as she felt his erection – even harder still! – throb deep inside her.

“Vorpal... I'm... I'm going to...” 

Was he warning her to stop? As if she could! As if she would stop! No, his soft, pleading voice merely awoke the dragon in her, that bullying streak all monstergirls have, and licking her lips with her long tongue she lifted her hips one last time and then slid down swiftly until he was in her up to the hilt. Then she covered him, her glistening breasts smothering his face.

“What's are you saying, my love?” she grunted. “That you're... you're going... to come?” She grasped the earth with her claws on either side of his body and rolled her hips forward. “Then come!” 

There was no gentleness now. Vorpal would have her release and no one, not monster or human or Queen or god, could stop her. She humped him wildly, driving his shaft into her again and again, all elegance forgotten. There was no more chance for words, for soft words of love – her tongue lolled out, dripping saliva, as hot pleasure hissed through her teeth. Every part of her tightened, tingled with the rising star of her pleasure, and the boy's moans and cries, his nails scouring her hips and buttocks, at last drove her over the edge.

She smashed down on him one last time, her moaning mouth filling his with plunges of her slick tongue as her mighty body shuddered. Her tentacles twisted around themselves, and her fully splayed wings shivered.

And then she was coming, her vision turning white from the pleasure bursting up along her spine, sparking from the centre of the two of them, from her swollen sex. She pulled her mouth from his and screamed out and his cry met hers, but his was calling her name.

“Vorpal! Vorpal!”

Her name! 

The ecstasy in her redoubled and all thought was burned from her as she came a second time.

Naveen gaped up at her. A thin line of drool trickled from the jabberwock's slackly open mouth and her eyes, hooded with pleasure, were raised to the sky. Her whole body, flushed and glistening with a sheen of sweat, shuddered atop him. 

So this was what making love was. And now she was coming, and he was the one who had made her! 

Barely rational with the ecstasy coursing through him, Naveen held onto the desperate, squirming jabberwock and plunged once, twice, and a third time up into her. And with his last thrust he came with a cry, his mind reeling as he exploded deep inside her. His first spurt was a torrent, and the second just as copious, and soon he was pouring back out of her, filling her womb to overflowing, as he continued to thrust, desperate for the pleasure to continue forever.

Fire filled Vorpal, the white essence of the prince's sexual energy. It spiralled up inside her, filling her womb, and her mind was driven further away. His energy poured through every part of her and with it came an exquisite pleasure that brought tears to her eyes.

She collapsed on top of him, their hips still weakly meeting together, not wishing to be parted even though a languid exhaustion had conquered them both. But then, at last, his member, soft now, popped out of her with a final jet of delight and Vorpal, sobbing, rolled onto her side, releasing the prince of the crush of her body and pulling him into her arms.

She had only enough energy to clutch him to her, but the prince, her husband and stallion, kissed her still, her neck, the ample flesh of her still-heaving breasts. She lay there, a mass of sweat, sore and tingling between the legs. Sleep pressed down upon her and she desired more than anything to just lie here with the prince crushed to her, the grass of the verge their make-shift marriage bed. 

But she forced her hooded eyes open and met his kisses, tasting the delightful salt of his exertions in his saliva as their tongues came together.

At last Naveen broke the kiss. “Vorpal,” he said. 

She knew she would never get sick of him saying her name. But as the pleasure of their lovemaking ebbed away, the reality of the situation forced itself upon her. She kissed him and gently rolled away from him, fishing her garment from where it lay not far away upon the grass. She slid back into it, feeling suddenly cold, and this time her claws felt large and clumsy as she tied the thongs. 

Pleasure still pooled inside Naveen. So this was what it meant to make love! So different from the pale, clumsy pleasure gained from one's own hands. He lay there, his body aglow, and watched Vorpal dress.

His heart was filled with the sight. She was so tall, so imposing – frightening, actually. But now, after living together, and after laying together with her, sharing pleasure with her, she was just a woman, a woman like any other.

No. Not a woman like any other. His lover. His wife.

Her tentacles helped her to tie the thongs closer to her bust. She glanced back at him and he saw the seriousness of her face.

A horrible thought struck him then.

“You're... you're not leaving, are you?”

Vorpal turned to face him. She sighed. “No,” she said. “No, I cannot leave you. You are my husband now. But...” And here she frowned. “But there are many things I have not told you.”

She sat down beside him. “Get dressed, my darling, and I'll tell you everything.”

At the end of it, the prince stood up. “So we must escape, then. Every minute we linger here is folly!”

Vorpal reached out and touched him. “No. We can't escape. The door to Wonderland opens and closes at the Queen's pleasure. She would know what we were attempting.”

We. So small a word, but such a delight passing her lips! 

Naveen slid to the ground in despair. “Then we can do nothing?”

Vorpal laughed. “Oh, of course not. Do you really know so little about me?” She lifted him up and hugged him to her. “No. I shall go and explain myself to the Queen.”

“Will she listen?”

Vorpal clutched him closer and said nothing.

She must, she thought to herself. There is no other way.

Vorpal shook the twigs from her hair and dusted off the grass stuck to the hip of her garment. “We will return to my lair first,” she said. “I cannot go to the Queen looking like this. She would refuse to see me.”

The air surged past Vorpal as she flew, the prince clinging to her like a child. Just like that first day, she thought. When I first brought him here and thought he was a princess.

She glanced down. The boy was holding on to her for dear life, his face pressed against her chest, unwilling to look down on the treetops fleeing beneath them.

Ah, but there was still much of the princess about him, Vorpal thought. A blushing, timid princess. But not just a princess. The space between her thighs still ached deliciously at the breaking of her maidenhood. 

Naveen sensed her looking at him and glanced up at her. He smiled, masking his fear well, although it still manifested itself in the wideness of his eyes, the rapid beating of his heart pressed against her.

She, too, was masking her fear. There was no guarantee the Queen of Hearts would listen to her. She crushed her husband closer. No. She would not give him up without a fight. 

Her wings splayed out to their full breadth, Vorpal came in to land. She let the prince's feet touch the earth and then let him go and landed beside him. Her lair was nearby, the stone still rolled away, just as they had left it.

“Come,” she said. “We have no knowing how long –“

The quiet of the forest was suddenly broken with the sounding of a horn. It was immediately met with another and Vorpal and Naveen turned, horrified. It was coming from the forest, from along the path that led into it. 

“What is it?” whispered the prince.

“The Queen,” said Vorpal, taking his hand. “She's here.”

Two were-rabbits burst hopping from the forest, dressed in red and white livery and carrying long horns, which they brought to their lips as soon as they came to a stop and sent another shrill note blaring into the air.

Naveen stepped back, but Vorpal grasped his hand, as much to steel herself as to console her husband. 

The two were-rabbits began to play a fanfare as a group of little monster girls skipped out of the forest. Dressed in lacy sundresses, their black hair worn in pigtails, they looked just like young human girls except for their long, pointed ears. They were carrying baskets filled with rose-petals, which they scattered them behind them, leaving a red and white carpet in their wake. Then the girls broke their formation and ran giggling around Vorpal and Naveen, hopping up and down and trying to touch them.

“Hello Vorpal!”

“Yes, hello Vorpal!”

“Such a beautiful big brother!”

“May we touch him? Please? Pretty please?”

Vorpal, as gently as she could, warned them away with a sweep of her tail. 

“Alices,” she muttered. 

The were-rabbits blew a final flourish which resounded around the grove and a third rabbit, dressed in the red coat and tails of a herald, hopped out of the forest and stopped at the end of the path of flower-petals. She adjusted the pinc-nez on her nose and unrolled a scroll.

“Hear ye! Hear ye!” she cried. “Presenting her most mischievous and prankful lewdness, ravisher of boys and deflowerer of girls , the lewdest and most gorgeous –“

She was interrupted by loud laughter as a litter exploded from the forest, held aloft by four blonde-haired Trumparts. The over-burdened girl-soldiers surged forward with it, forcing the herald to toss the scroll aside and leap away to avoid being crushed. The litter came to a stop just before Vorpal and Naveen. There was no one on top of it. But still the laughter came, resounding about the grove.

The herald dusted herself off, retrieved her scroll and with as much self-collection as she could muster, cried:

“The lewdest and most gorgeous monster of Wonderland – 

– Dovedale the Cheshire Cat!”

It was Dovedale! The Cat appeared from nowhere on top of the litter, standing at her full height, and with another burst of laughter she bowed low.

“Dovedale?” The name burst from Vorpal's mouth, which remained hanging open as the Cat, with a even wider grin than normal, leaped from the litter and floated down before them. “You're – you're the Queen of Hearts?”

The grin fell from the Cat's face and was replaced again with uproarious laughter.

“Oh, of course not, darling!” She pounced forward and hugged the dazed jabberwock. “Such blasphemy! Her Majesty just let me borrow some of her servants for my grand entrance.”

“So the Queen,” demanded Naveen. “The Queen isn't here?”

Dovedale smiled playfully at him. “Oh no, my beautiful prince. She is much too busy. Although she does send her congratulations and promises to send you both a gift as soon as she is able.”

“A gift?” spluttered Vorpal. “What for?”

Dovedale turned to her. “Why, to celebrate your marriage of course!”

The cat grinned as all the assembled monsters exploded into laughter and applause. Vorpal wheeled about.

“My marriage! Is this some sort of joke?!”

The laughter fell away as the monsters were confronted by the flashing eyes and whipping tail of the increasingly annoyed jabberwock. The were-rabbits all took a hop backwards in alarm, while the Alices burst into tears and hugged each other.

Dovedale grasped Vorpal's claws in her paws. “Darling, please! Don't lose your temper at our little game, especially at such a happy time as this.”

Vorpal blinked her wide eyes. “Then the Queen... the Queen knows about us?”

Dovedale nodded. “Of course she does, darling. You know as well as I that nothing at all happens in Wonderland without her knowledge. Besides, this was all her idea.”

“The Queen's idea?” repeated Naveen, still reeling from confusion and relief that the dread Queen of Hearts was not in fact present. 

Dovedale giggled. “Of course, darling. She was so thoroughly sick of having such a prudish and gloomy jabberwock as a servant that she devised this little scheme. She knew, of course, that your dragon's heart would covet the boy as soon as you laid eyes on him. I mean, what female could resist such a naïve and pure creature as him?”

The Cat leered at Navene. His eyes fell on the great number of monstergirls surrounding them in the grove, all of them smiling lasciviously at him. He slipped closer to Vorpal, who instinctively drew him protectively against her.

“But the ale,” blurted Vorpal. “You spiked my ale!”

“I did no such thing,” laughed Dovedale. “It had nothing to do with the ale and everything to do with a horny wyrm denying herself for too long. The only aphrodisiac you needed was the sight of this one, here.” She vanished, only to reappear beside the prince and make a grab for his butt. Vorpal, scowling, batted at the cat with a wing-tip. Her friend vanished, her mouth quickly reappearing to the left of the blow, sticking out its tongue.

“Oh, you really are silly sometimes, darling,” said the mouth as the rest of Dovedale reappeared by degrees. 

Vorpal wrapped a wing about Naveen. “This is my husband,” she hissed. “And any monster who thinks she can steal him from me will soon learn that's its not just steel and stone which these talons can rend!”

She lunged at the group, who fled screaming away. Only Dovedale remained, floating out of reach above the two of them.

Naveen looked up at the jabberwock, breathless – well, she was crushing all the air from his chest, after all. Vorpal, despite her boasts, seemed unaware of her own strength. 

She noticed him looking at her and met his gaze. Her huge amber eyes glistened with sudden emotion. Yes, he was her husband. 

And this great imposing and beautiful monster is my wife, thought Naveen. He hugged her closer, delighting in the great warm sweep of her wing enveloping him. His face was level with her breasts and the soft, fragrant flesh rose and fell with her breathing.

With tears in her eyes Vorpal hugged him back.

“So what now?” said the prince. “I've – I've never been married before.”

“Well,” laughed Dovedale. “Surely next should come the Honeymoon, no? And from the waves of lewd energy pouring off the two of you, there's no time like the present to celebrate.” A little smile played across her lips. “But perhaps you'd like an extra player, to add some spice to the celebration?”

Naveen blushed and Vorpal, with a roar which masked her delighted laughter, leaped at the Cat. Dovedale vanished in a flash, leaving only her mouth which danced away through the air as though lifted aloft by a sudden breeze.

“Once a spoilsport, always a spoilsport. Farewell, dragon and prince! And my most heartfelt congratulations on your union.” 

And with that the mouth vanished too.

Vorpal hefted Naveen up, one-handed, slipping her other claw under his knees so that she held cradled against her.

His arms slipped around her chest and he tilted his head. Vorpal leaned down and kissed him. 

“I remember the first time you carried me this way,” breathed Naveen after she broke the kiss. “Am I still a princess to you?”

“Well,” murmured Vorpal as she moved toward the mouth of her lair. “Isn't it a human tradition to carry the bride over the threshold?” Then she laughed. “But you're no princess, Naveen, although you are most definitely a treasure.” 

The End


End file.
